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OK, 


THINGS SE|N AND HEARD. 


51 Snail. 


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BY ^ 

MRS. MARY E. HERNDON. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO. 
1853 . 




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, 

BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO AND CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 




LOUISE ELTON: 


OR, 


THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 

A STORY, 

THE ICHNOGRAPHY OF WHICH IS REALITY. 

Dedicated, most respectfully, to Hon. Jefferson Dayis, 
of Mississippi, now Secretary of War; one of the true friends 
of the “ Union of the States ” who scorns all speculations rela- 
tive to the established laws of our country, and more especially 
those adduced by fanatics or misguided partisans, whose theo- 
ries, founded upon abstract principles, promise that which is 
never conferred in practice. It is a pleasure to honor the 
great, particularly those who call to the citizens of our Re- 
public to rally around the standard of Democracy, and who 
admonish those who lift the American Flag, to be as earnest 
and zealous as the Emperor Constantine was, who, when he 
witnessed the downfall of Pagan persecution, exclaimed, under 
the banner of the Cross, 

“ In this sign shalt thou conquer.” 

It is also gratifying to know that justice, for his valor in 
battle and his decisive course as a patriot at home, has carved his 
meritorious deeds upon the brightest escutcheon of America; 
and we. believe that the day is not far distant, when our execu- 
tive diadem will glitter with so brilliant a spangle as the name 
of Jefferson Davis ! 

























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INTRODUCTORY; 


OR, THE REASON WHY I WROTE LOUISE ELTON; OR, THINGS 
SEEN AND HEARD. 


u Cousin, I wish you to write a hook — a novel,” said my 
cousin, John Beverly, to me, one evening as we sat musing over 
the last letters in “ Delphine,” by Madame de Stael, while 
the harsh winds of November were blowing briskly, and the 
small hail came rattling against the panes of glass, which ad- 
mit the rays of light into my old studio. “ Write a book !” 
said I ; “ why, John, what do you mean? I have never even 
had a dream upon the subject.” — “I am in earnest,” answered 
he ; u and as the night is chilly and gloomy, and you have the 
asthma, I will retire now ; and when I get home I will give 
you my reasons for advising you to write a book.” Kind 
reader, sure enough, when cousin reached home, he wrote me 
the following letter, and I collected all qf the materials together 
that I could think of, and the following novel is the result of 
my labor. 

M. E. H. 

Mayslick, Ky., January 10, 1852. 

My dear Cousin — 

Do you not recollect that I remarked to you last summer, 
whilst we sat under the apple tree at Rose Spring, that you 
ought to write a novel ? I believe the only reply you then 
made me was a laugh, a derisive one too, for you seemed 
to conclude that if you were to write a novel, nobody 
would read it. You have told me, many a time, that you 


X 


INTRODUCTORY. 


thought we had too many book-makers ; that the motto of our 
ancestors was, “ Study, study, study nowadays, the cry 

is, il Genius, genius, genius and that if you were to at- 
tempt to write a novel, you might labor a long time upon it, 
and, perhaps, the literary world would pay no attention to 

it. I recollect that upon one occasion you remarked, u Why, I 
should feel about my book, I fear, as the gay belle feels, who, 
after toiling for hours in her boudoir, arraying herself in fine 
laces, ribbons, flowers, curls, and gems, enters the spacious ball- 
room, and no one asks her to dance.” Do not, my dear cousin, 
bu so timorous ; but go on and write a novel. It will be read, 
I feel assured, for the literary reader of the passing age may 
be compared to the California gold-finder, who washes sand all 
day and accumulates a quantity of gold dust, and at night 
dreams of other adventures, but promises that another sun shall 
not go down upon him in the mines; another morning’s light, 
notwithstanding, dawns on him, and he finds a huge stone, 
under which is hidden a lump of gold ; he remains there and 
toils again and again, and after a time declares that gold-find- 
ing has become the business of his life, and he is determined 
to search on, at every spot where he has reason for believing 
that there is a treasure. Be not discouraged, therefore, be- 
cause you have accidentally heard a few declare that they 
never intend to peruse another novel ; for this has nothing to 
do with the taste of the reading million. It does not interrupt 
them at all ; they are not easily satisfied, but will read page 
after page ; yea, they will devour folios, quartos, octavos, and 
duodecimos, and lie down apparently satiated ; still the intel- 
lect will roam in visions over Tempean valleys, and view the 
inexhaustible treasures which may be gathered within their 
classic shades. They still wish to ascend Mount Parnassus, 
and upon its loftiest tower build an altar, and look around, 
like Abraham, when he was about to sacrifice Isaac upon one 
of the mountains in the land of Moriah, and hear the voice 
of the Muse declare that the mountain upon which you stand 


INTRODUCTORY. 


XI 


is sacred to Apollo, and that no sacrifice can he offered thereon, 
save to Literature and Science. Yes, my cousin, they will 
continue to listen to the stream that murmurs forth from Cas- 
talia’s sparkling fountain ; nor will they grow weary, while 
Time lasts, in searching for the small path that leads to the 
temples upon Helicon and Olympus ; neither will they faint 
nor tire in clambering over crags, rocks, and wide deep val- 
leys to Hippocrene’s bubbling waters. I have often told you 
that you were wrong in saying that you would never like to 
write anything but a book of travels. A home novel would 
be more interesting, as so many have climbed Mount St. Elias, 
Chimborazo, Mount Blanc, and Dhawalaghiri ; so many have, 
likewise, heard torrents roar, and gazed upon limpid cascades, 
which flow over wild steeps, into deep broad rivers and 
bays. There is many a Kobinson Crusoe, who has regaled 
upon the delicious odors, and inhaled the soft gales from the 
orange bowers upon isolated islands and distant shores. Many 
adventurers have sent home books, who have gathered dia- 
monds, gold, and silver from Pannah, Ophir, and Peru ; others 
have told us of the nutmeg trees, of the pomegranate, the gin- 
ger, and clove, as well as of the ostrich, which runs over the 
burning sands of the Arabian desert, and of the tiger, which 
growls in the jungles of the Ganges, and the majestic con- 
dor that darkens the air with its broad black wings ; besides, 
look what a myriad of books we have upon the ruins of tem- 
ples and palaces, of the old classic cities, and in short, all the 
places of fame and notoriety. Wait no longer, but begin and 
compose a novel for us, and I promise you that it will be 
read by hundreds. Take my advice, cousin, and remain in 
your philosophic cell ; for you can write a novel, and you may 
never have an opportunity to go abroad and see foreign coun- 
tries at all, and your cousin is unwilling for your educational 
acquirements to lie dormant. 

Sincerely yours, 

J. B. Herndon. 



LOUISE ELTON; 


OR, 


THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Sister,” said my brother Alva to me, one evening, as I 
was busily engaged packing our carpet-bags and trunk, to com- 
mence our journey homeward from the South, where we had 
been on a visit, and I employed as a governess for some time, 
u do you not recollect of hearing our father speak of the great 
pecuniary distress throughout the United States, in 1837, and 
also of the failure of hundreds of houses in the large cities, 
when the banks all suspended specie payment, and so many 
persons were cried out to the world as bankrupts ?” 

11 Certainly I do, brother,” was my reply. 

“Very well, then, sister Louise,” said Alva, “you also re- 
collect of hearing our father say that he lost two thousand 
dollars by the failure of Mr. George Lampton ?” 

“I recollect it perfectly,” I answered; “also the astonish- 
ment the failure of such a wealthy, and as father always called 
him, long-headed calculator as Mr. George Lampton.” 

“Well,” continued Alva, “after his indebtedness to our 
father, he migrated to this State, and by rigid economy, indus- 
try, and uncommon success in his business affairs, he has re- 
trieved his broken fortune, and has sent me word, by a friend, 
that we ought to go home by land, and call at his house, and 

2 


14 


LOUISE ELTON; 


he will certainly pay us the money he owed our father, with 
interest on it. There is a great deal of integrity in the world, 
Louise, which I am happy to find, too; and when I received 
Mr. Lampton’ s message, I thought of what father used often 
to say ; it was this : 1 My sons/ said he, one day, to brother 
George and myself, 1 recollect that your father believes that 
George Lampton is an honest man ; and if it shall please God 
to remove me from this world, before Lampton recovers suffi- 
cient money to pay me, I believe that at some future period, 
if he live, that he will recollect my widow and orphan children. 
Oh, no ; George Lampton is too good a man to have borrowed 
my money, and then failed full-handed ; besides, his energy 
has no limit, and I verily believe that he will yet be a rich 
man/ What do you think, then, sister Louise, of going home 
by land ?” 

u Not very favorably, of course,” I replied. “ The exchange 
of a fine boat, a deep rushing river, etc., for a buggy, rough 
roads, and country taverns, is not very desirable ; however, as 
we are so poor, and you are assured that Mr. Lampton will act 
uprightly, I will make the overland journey homeward, with- 
out complaint, and brook all inconveniences for our mother’s 
sake : so go on, Alva, make the necessary preparations, and we 
will start to-morrow morning.” 


CHAPTER II. 

I have travelled in some places where persons accustom 
themselves to calling a circuit of fifteen, twenty, thirty, and 
often forty miles a neighborhood. Where I had resided, we 
were in the habit of calling six, eight, or ten farms adjoining 
each other, with families living in them, a neighborhood. Both, 
I suppose, may be denominated neighborhoods ; — the first, very 
sparsely, and the second, more densely settled and populated. 
The last inn-keeper, of whom we inquired, informed us that 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 15 

Mr. George Lampton was one of his neighbors ; — that we must 
leave the main-road, in about fifteen miles from him, at the 
first cross-roads, — drive about twenty miles through the country, 
and we would find the residence of Mr. George Lampton. 

We travelled slowly onward, believing that we would soon 
arrive at a tavern, where we could rest during that night. Our 
informant at Holly Lodge had assured us that we would find 
a number of inns in the neighborhood, where we could stay all 
night, but we journeyed along without seeing anything which 
attracted our attention, except now and then an old weather- 
worn index, on the side of the road, which, with its ancient- 
looking finger, pointed to the next tavern so many miles ahead 
of us, that it was useless to attempt to reach it. Night was 
coming speedily upon us ; the gales, uncommonly chilly for a 
southern climate, were blowing my bonnet-strings aloft ; the 
opaque surface of the earth was intercepting the rays of light 
from the sun, which had fallen obliquely, and were reflecting 
long lines, causing the trees and other objects to measure slen- 
der, ghost-like shadows on the dark surface of the ground. 

“ I had forgotten,” said Alva, “ that the days are so short ; 
I have not become accustomed yet to brief hours. The earth 
moves with such apparent velocity, especially after the autum- 
nal equinox, and gets from under the sun's perpendicular rays 
so rapidly, that when I am travelling, I am unmindful of the 
length and brevity of the days.” In a few minutes more we 
came to the cross-roads, — and, according to instruction, we fol- 
lowed the track which led us down a narrow, rocky road. We 
soon discovered, from the appearance of the fences, fields, &c., 
that the plantations in this vicinity were highly improved, and 
we believed, that after a while we would come to a house 
where we could stay all night. 

After driving about one mile farther, we drew up in front of 
a large, and elaborately wrought gate ; which, when unclosed 
admitted one into an extensive forest, and which seemed from 
its fine appearance to shut in the Lapides Terminales } of some 


16 


LOUISE ELTON; 


wealthy southern planter. This was a beautiful prospect. The 
gorgeousness with which autumn had dyed the leaves of this 
old wild forest was fading away. A trace now and then of the 
fantastic paintings of nature was visible ; — the last rays of 
that day's sun were flickering on the distant hill-tops, and 
the uncourtly gales of a November's evening were hastily de- 
nuding the most of the trees of the woodlands of their once 
fresh and verdant foliage. 

“ There was not a tree in all the grove but had its charm.” 

The elegant magnolia, the lofty chestnut, the cotton-wood, 
the shellbark-hickory, and the kingly oak stood upon the soil 
of this fine demesne, with as much firmness and majesty, as if 
they held the only title to the ground over which their lofty 
boughs had waved so long. 

The trumpet honeysuckle and the wild rose had scattered 
their leaves upon the grass, and their vines were clinging, like 
true friendship, to the sides of the more antiquated trees, as if 
they felt assured of finding protection from the evening breezes. 
The wild grape vines were closely embracing the persimon and 
plum trees, all loaded with clusters of fruit ; sweetened by the 
late frosts, and on these luxuries, hundreds of gay singing birds 
were fattening. I was engaged in contemplating this lovely 
scene, almost forgetting that the night was so nigh at hand, 
when Alva sprung from the buggy and ventured to unbolt the 
fine gate. 

a Drive through, Louise," said he, “I suppose they will 
allow us to stay all night." 

“ They !" 

“ Whom ?" said I. “ Do you know where you are going ?" 

“No," replied he; “but this gate looks as if it has been 
made to imbound people of quality, and this gravel road will 
doubtless lead us to a house. I will pay double price if it is 
required, rather than be compelled to drive after night. I feel 
chilly, and very much fear another ague," continued he, as he 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


17 


drew the fur collar of his overcoat above his ears, and reseated 
himself in the buggy. 

We drove over this neatly gravelled road and I resumed my 
meditative mood. First I listened to the crushing of the shells 
and gravel under the wheels, and as we commenced the descent 
of a hill I gazed on the beautiful lowlands, the luxuriant-look- 
ing fields, the fat cattle ; then the autumnal fruits and seeds, 
which lay upon the ground made me conclude that the horn of 
plenty had been emptied of a large portion of its golden trea- 
sures upon this broad, exuberant savanna. A shallow, but wide 
creek flowed at the base of the hill ; we crossed it and struck 
the road on the opposite side. It curved off to the right hand, 
and soon we were in sight of an elegant mansion. I began to 
feel great diffidence and embarrassment as we neared this fine 
place, for the countenance of everything was decidedly aristo- 
cratic, we were total strangers, and we were perhaps approach- 
ing the residence of some great family, who would not like to 
be troubled with travellers. I might have known better, if I 
had weighed matters correctly. I had been staying in the 
South for a length of time ; and whoever heard of a south- 
erner who was not a model of hospitality and kindness ? Ge- 
nerous, chivalrous, open-hearted people, I would rise at the hour 
of midnight to unbar my doors to you, I would kill the fatted 
calf, nurse you in sickness, and rest you on the softest couch 
my house afforded ! 

We had not stopped long before the front yard, when a neatly 
attired mulatto-boy appeared at the angle of the mansion — 
paused a second, looked at us, — then walked briskly towards the 
gate and opened it* widely before us. 

“ Drive through, sir,” was the polite and laconic salutation. 

“ Who lives here ?” said Alva, to the servant who seemed 
surprised that my brother did not obey his polite direction. 

“ Colonel Manville, sir,” returned the boy. 

“Is your master at home ?” inquired Alva. 

“ Yes, sir.” 


2 * 


18 


LOUISE ELTON; 


<< Very well,” said my brother, u run to the house and ask him 
to come out to the gate, if he pleases.” The servant was soon 
out of sight, hut returned directly to us saying, “ Master is 
waiting on mistress, who is in one of her ways this evening, and 
he cannot come out ; he says you must drive into the yard, 
around the circle, and stop before the portico, and he will send 
his brother-in-law to you.” 

We followed the directions of the master, through the Anglo- 
African, and came to a halt in front of a large open portico, 
with stately columns, of great circumference and height, adorned 
with all the beauty of which the most skilful Corinthian archi- 
tect could boast. 

The groundwork was of marble, and the steps composed of 
the same huge white material. 

The servant opened the door that led from the portico into 
the great hall of the mansion, and out came a gentleman who 
appeared to be about thirty-eight or forty years of age. He 
had on a pair of fair leather slippers, a black coat, drab panta- 
loons, a leghorn hat dyed black, the reddest cravat that ever 
was seen, and before his great prominent blue eyes he wore a 
pair of glasses, spherically concave, which said that he was 
short-sighted , physically of course, as his amiable countenance 
told us, immediately, that he was too heavenly-minded to be 
short-sighted morally. He ran down the great steps, as if he 
was the lord of the manor, and with as much gracefulness and 
loftiness of carriage, as if he had been tutored in old-time court- 
liness by the fascinating Talma. My brother was younger than 
I, and more timorous, and when I discovered that he was em- 
barrassed, I spoke to the elegant gentleman: myself. Said I, 
“ We left the main road about one-half hour ago. I discovered 
from the indices along the wayside that we were a great dis- 
tance from a tavern ; the day was closing so fast, that we con- 
cluded to enter the lane, which brought us to your woodland : 
we have penetrated to your mansion ; will you permit us to stay 
all night ? My brother has had the ague and fever, and dreads 
the air after it grows so late.” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


19 


“ Certainly, certainly, with pleasure,” said the gentleman, 
who had waited patiently till I explained to him how we came 
there. “ Alight, both of you; you can spend the night here;” 
and continued he, “I should not only he encroaching upon the 
hospitality of my amiable brother-in-law, were I to deny you ad- 
mittance to-night, but I would commit a sin against my own con- 
science.” I saw directly that he was in the habit of attending 
ladies, for as I stepped from the vehicle he held my hand, and 
protected my skirts from the ragged ends of plating about the 
old buggy, and as the step was high from the ground, he made 
me lodge on his foot as I got out of the time-worn little car- 
riage. After I was fairly on the gravel walk, he made a slight 
inclination (for he was six feet and one inch in height), gave 
me his arm, and then turning to my brother, he said, “ Walk in, 
sir ; your trunks and other articles will be attended to by the 
servants.” As Alva stepped to my left hand, the boy drove off 
with the buggy and its contents. 

We passed through a great square hall, and about twenty feet 
from the front door we commenced ascending a flight of wind- 
ing stairs. I held my unknown chaperon by the arm, and we 
tripped up the steps with the regularity and agility of two cadets 
who have been trained to arms for a moderate lifetime. At 
the head of the staircase we entered a hall similar to the 
one below, and immediately on our right hand was a door 
which admitted us to the magnificently furnished parlors. 

My escort seated me within the arms of a large rocking- 
chair, elegantly cushioned, and covered with a rich dark green 
damask silk, looped and decorated with tassels of the same 
fine material. I leaned back against the soft supporter, and 
as the gentleman loosened the ashes and cinders between the 
bars of the grate, he asked me, how far we had travelled 
that day, and hoped I was not fatigued ? I told him we had 
come thirty -five miles, that I was not fatigued — a great deal. 
He then arose and left the room. Presently he returned, and 
there came, also, a genteel-looking servant girl, bearing a silver 


20 


LOUISE ELTON; 


waiter, two small cut-glass bottles, a silver pitcher, and six 
silver goblets. She then presented the plate to me. The 
polite gentleman approached me, pulled the stopper from one of 
the bottles, and then, in his overpowering and courtly manner 
invited me to take a glass of brandy and water, after my long 
drive through the chilly air. I thanked him, and he poured a 
small portion into one of the goblets, diluted it with water, 
and handed it to me. I knew this beverage would suit my bro- 
ther very well, as he was threatened with a chill, and from the 
scintillations that flew about, from the mouth of the bottle, 
against the sides of the bright silver cups, one might have con- 
cluded perhaps , that both of the gentlemen were endeavoring to 
avoid the ague. 

Some of my readers may consider it indelicate in a lady to 
drink anything so strong as brandy. Have a little patience, 
and after awhile you will learn that the gentleman who was 
attending us so politely, had his own peculiar way of doing 
things, and believed a small portion of brandy to be at this 
time, far more acceptable than wine or sweetened toddies. I 
admire the custom, too, very much : I mean, the fashion for 
gentlemen to drink brandy and water. I also admire it in 
a social way. I dislike to see persons indulge so freely as to 
render themselves contemptible and culpable, or to become 
slaves to intoxicating drinks. We may carry many things into 
the portals of impropriety. I saw an individual eat so exces- 
sively upon a certain occasion that he died the same night of 
apoplexy. I have not the slightest objection to those who 
form temperance societies, if they think proper. The Wash- 
ingtonian system has, I believe, been the means of reclaiming 
many a wanderer. The rigid temperance of its members, their 
example, &c., have produced a salutary effect upon the minds of 
many, who have plucked up, root and branch, those vines which 
annually distilled so vast a quantity of wine into the pernicious 
vats of old Bacchus. However, I cannot divest myself of the 
admiration I have, to see gentlemen toasting each other. 

Alva now drew his chair nearer to me, and remarked, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


21 


a Sister, I never tasted such excellent brandy in my life. 
That clever gentleman must have descended from Sir Robert 
G-raigdarroch, or Glenriddel, whom Robert Burns declares 
‘ unmatched at the bottle I wish I was at home, or out on 
the big road, where I could sing 

“ ‘ Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand, 

And may his great posterity 
Ne’er fail in all this land.’ 

Or the old ballad of 1 The Whistle/ by dear old Robert 
Burns. The .fourteenth stanza in the song always amuses me j 
don’t you recollect it, Louise ? 

“ ‘ Six bottles apiece had well worn out the night, 

When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 

Turned o’er in one bumper a bottle of red, 

And swore ’twas the way that their ancestor did.’ ” 

As I was walking across the parlor admiring the fine house, 
and rallying Alva upon taking more brandy than his honest 
heart intended, our friend returned. He inquired of me, if I 
would have anything ? I told him I wished for nothing, at that 
time ; that I was admiring the plan of the house ; that I never 
had seen the parlors above stairs, except in towns and cities. 
“ This mansion,” rejoined he, “was planned by a lady. Do 
you not think her genius as an architect very tasty ?” I told 
him I did. Continued he : u The whole fabric is very conve- 
nient : there may be a large company above stairs here, and all 
the domestic duties be performed below, and the company may 
spend their time pleasantly without the slightest interruption,” 
and at that moment he again left the room. 


CHAPTER III. 

In about fifteen minutes, our friend returned, and he led 
into the room a beautiful young lady. As he presented her to 


22 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


me, he remarked, “ I have not the pleasure of knowing your 
name, hut allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Kate Manville, 
to you.” As I received the polite introduction, I informed 
the gentleman that my name was Louise Elton. Reader, have 
you ever seen an account of the fisherman whose angling rod 
and line is charged with electricity by the Gymnotus Elec- 
tricusj and the angler becoming paralysed by the mysterious 
shock on the banks of the tropical rivers and lakes ? I thought 
of the angler at this moment, for when I pronounced my name, 
the strange gentleman startled ; he was agitated, confused, and 
evidently shocked. I looked at him a second ; then I intro- 
duced the beautiful niece, Miss Kate Manville, to my brother, 
Mr. Alva Elton. Immediately, Miss Kate made us acquainted 
with the interesting gentleman, who was recovering from his 
late surprise, and to whom we felt under so many obligations, 
as her uncle, Dr. Finlay. It seems as if it would be unjust to 
pass on, without giving a more minute description of little 
Kate. I judged from her appearance, that not more than the 
gales of eighteen summers had fanned her raven-like curls, 
which hung wantonly about her round, pretty neck and face. 
Her eyes were of a rich black ; she was beautiful ; yes, very 
beautiful; just my style of beauty too; for no woman can look 
ugly, according to my notion , if her eyes are black. Kate's 
were also expressive, and as she cast them down, which was 
often the case, her long dark eyelashes seemed to sleep upon 
her fully soft Italian cheeks. Her forehead was high, her chin 
beautifully dimpled, and her teeth small and white as milk. 
Her stature was rather low, but her form, round and perfect. 
Notwithstanding her encirclement by all the luxuries and ele- 
gancies of life, and the society of a gentleman of apparent 
dignity, affection, and intelligence, whom she addressed by the 
tender appellation of uncle, — still, there was something sad in 
the expression of little Kate’s countenance. “ Am I correct,” 
said Dr. Finlay, to Alva, “in understanding your sister’s first 
name to be Louise ?” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


23 


11 Yon are, sir,” rejoined my brother; u her Christian name 
is Louise.” Dr. Finlay then leaned back in his chair and 
looked intently at me. I thought he gave me a curious look, too, 
for he rolled his great eyes at me over his glasses, and he fixed 
his gaze so full in my face, that I turned my head aside, won- 
dering what there could be in my appearance, or the name of 
Louise , that interested him so deeply, but I dared not interro- 
gate him, of course. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ Do you feel fatigued, Miss Elton ?” inquired little Kate, 
as the bell was heard to ring announcing the hour for supper. 

I replied, “ I do not, for I enjoy travelling so much, that I can 
ride all day, through a desert, or a forest ; over mountains, val- 
leys, rivers, and bayous, and at night resemble Alexander the 
Great, who 1 wept for more worlds to conquer I should not 
weep, but would be sufficiently interested to beg for more forests 
and mountains, and more streamlets and vales to range over. 
I am a great admirer of nature’s works, and therefore gene- 
rally in the humor for contemplating its beauty and grandeur.” 
“ We are in confusion here to-day, somewhat,” said the lovely 
little woman ; u my mother, or rather my step-mother, has, at 
times, some of the most distressing spells imaginable. She 
has had an alarming nervous spasm this afternoon. It seems 
to worry my father very much, for she refuses every one who 
should attend her but himself. My father is remarkably fleshy, 
and it always looks odd to me to see a gentleman acting as a 
sick-nurse. We have a great deal of company to-night. The 
ladies and gentlemen are in their rooms now, preparing to dance 
after tea, but they will be disappointed. Pa has several 
servants who perform delightfully on the fife, drum, and 
violin, but ma’s nervous spasm precludes our anticipated 
enjoyment.” Again I apologized to little Kate on account 


24 


LOUISE ELTON; 


of our unexpected intrusion, and again I was assured that 
we were welcome. She then invited me below stairs, into 
her dressing-room, in order that I might adjust my hair, for she 
very considerately remarked, that as the company were all 
strangers to me, she had conducted me down, to afford me an 
opportunity to prepare for the eyes of several fine gentlemen. 
I did as this beautiful, kind maiden bade me, and in a short 
time I heard her uncle inquire for us. He had come down to 
escort me to the table. We entered the room, I holding to the 
arm of Dr. Finlay, and little Kate and Alva coming after us. 

The folding-doors of two large rooms were thrown open, and 
a table reaching through them, covered with massive plate, and 
dishes well filled, was spread before us. I had never seen a 
more abundant supply of luxuries, or a board more tastefully 
and handsomely laid out. On each side stood gentlemen and 
ladies, as if they had convened upon some great festivity ; the 
nature of which I could not tell. They were laughing 
and chatting when we entered the saloon, waiting for us to 
take places at the table. I soon discovered that they were 
people of high life, but could conclude no further ; and all they 
knew of us was, that we had travelled all day, and stopped to 
stay all night. Dr. Finlay, however, was very polite, and 
seemed to be at home, and little Kate so kind and interesting, 
that I felt unembarrassed when the Doctor led me into the room, 
and introduced me to his brother-in-law, — a polite, smiling old 
gentleman, whom he called “ Colonel Manville.” 

Kate introduced Alva, and after a kind welcome from the 
hospitable Colonel, he remarked. — 

“ My wife is indisposed this evening. Dr. Finlay will intro- 
duce yourself and brother to Miss Morris, the lady presiding 
at the head of the table.” We were next presented to her, and 
the guests introduced to “ Miss Elton and brother.” “ Give 
thanks, brother Charles,” said Col. Manville, to an aged per- 
sonage at the table ; and silence regained her supremacy, spite 
of the despotic triumph of woman’s gossip, for perhaps three 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 25 

minutes. We all then commenced partaking of the sumptuous 
viands before us. Everything was fine, fashionable, and gay, 
and the most polite and accomplished servants I had seen for 
many a season. I kept listening to the merry chat of the 
ladies and gentlemen, and the rattle of the shiny silver plate, 
till I almost thought myself dreaming. I was seated between 
Dr. Finlay and the most noted dignitary at the table, u old 
Mr. Charles Manville,” as he was reverently called. The same, 
too, who had offered an ardent prayer of thanksgiving, for the 
table comforts set before us. I well recollect his concluding 
words. “ Whether we eat, or drink, or whatever we do, may 
we do all to thy praise, our Heavenly Father.” 


CHAPTER Y. 

Dr. Finlay, who sat at my right hand, was particularly atten- 
tive to me, and as I sat nigh enough to Miss Morris, she com- 
plimented me so much as to make many polite inquiries about 
the long journey I had to perform, — the distance we had come 
on that day, and insisted on my partaking heartily of the dain- 
ties on the magnificent board. I readily complied with her 
invitation, as I felt disposed to eat. The long drive, or that 
brandy and water , of which good Dr. Finlay had induced me 
to taste, had aroused my appetite, and I did not wait for Miss 
Morris to urge me a second time. I found that this lady was 
the governess ; that she possessed some educational accomplish- 
ments, and that she was attentive and kind, but exceedingly 
loquacious, and officiating in place of u my wife” whom the 
servant boy Godfrey had familiarly informed us, u was in one 
of her ways,” when we made our halt, about sundown, before 
the elegant gate at Green Haven. I noticed that Miss Morris 
seemed to cast some very significant glances at Dr. Finlay, but 
all was a mystery. Once I heard her whisper and say, “ Is 
her name Louise ?” and the Doctor replied, “ It is.” Then I no- 

3 


26 


LOUISE ELTON; 


ticed that his hand trembled as he presented something to me. 
I felt curious to know why the name of Louise should agitate a 
gentleman so much, and why Miss Morris should betray 
significant expressions, by her sidelong glances at the Doctor, 
but I was forced to sup in conjecture, and at last concluded 
that, perhaps, the Doctor was a widower, and that his wife was 
named Louise, or that some great favorite, with himself, was 
called by this name. After tea, the gayest portion of the com- 
pany adjourned to the parlors, and the remainder retreated to 
their respective apartments. Dr. Finlay handed me into 
the upper parlor, and we took a seat on a large sofa, covered all 
over with rich green Persian silk. The Doctor commenced a 
conversation about a magnificent painting that constituted a por- 
tion of the ornaments, which embellished these princely halls. 
It was a picture drawn in view of the scenery of “ Corie Lin,” 
— that wild, romantic fall of the Liver Clyde in Scotland. “ I 
have visited Corie Lin,” said the Doctor, “ and these words of 
the poet came forcibly to my mind, as I looked upon the wild 
scene. 

“ ‘ Here awful beauty puts on all its charms.’ ” 

Then he directed my attention to the correctness of the paint- 
ing ; to the stupendous cliffs, — the ragged black-looking rocks 
growing from their sides, — the angry and impetuous flood, thun- 
dering over the crags,— the fisherman, with his long boots on, 
throwing into the pool, below the fall, the hook baited with 
some delicacy, which tempts the finny tribes. 

There were painted over the hills and lofty trees the old 
spires and turrets of Corie Castle, which was surrounded by 
the peaceful shades, and overshadowed by low, heavv clouds. 
When I examine a fine painting it always excites my admira- 
tion and enthusiasm. I stood up to look at the one before us, 
and presently I remarked to Dr. Finlay, “that it was out of 
my powei to express my admiration for a fine painting, espe- 
cially such a grand old scene as ‘ Corie Lin.’ ” Said he, “ Are 


27 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 

you acquainted with the poems of Eliza Cook ?” I replied 
quickly, and very thoughtlessly, “ Oh ! Doctor, indeed I am ; 
Eliza Cook is one of my favorite poets.” I was provoked that I 
had exclaimed 1 Oh ! Doctor/ and with so much vehemence, too, 
as if I had been acquainted with Dr. Finlay a great while ; for as 
I exhibited so much enthusiasm he gave me one of those queer 
mysterious looks, over his spectacles, that made me turn 
from his glance ; and I asked him if he recollected those ex- 
quisite lines by Eliza Cook, in her beautiful “ Song of Marion.” 
Said he, u Do you refer to the stanza beginning 

“ ‘ Not yet, not yet ! I thought I saw 
The folding of his plaid ?’ ” 

u Ah ! that’s it,” I said, and as he was ratherslow of speech 
I could not wait for him to repeat the two last verses of the 
stanza, so I seized the poetic thread, and unwound the beauti- 
ful, silken sentiment, and said — 

“ ‘Alas ! ’twas but the mountain pine, 

That cast a fitful shade.’ 

There are other verses in it still more beautiful and melan- 
choly ) do you not think so, Doctor ? Do you not also recollect 
this stanza : 

“ ‘ Not yet, not yet ! I heard a sound — 

A distant crashing din ; 

’Tis but the night-breeze bearing on 
The roar of Corie Lin.’ ” 

“ Yes, Miss Elton,” said he, “ it is all pretty. I have stood 
near this fall when the evening gale bore to my ear the thun- 
dering of the cataract; but I do not think I enjoyed the natu- 
ral scenery so much as I have that painted view, during the 
short time I have been conversing about it with yourself. 

“ There surely is something more interesting and stirring, in 
looking at a painting, if it be a correct one, and listening to the 
remarks of some accomplished female, who calls to mind the 


28 


LOUISE ELTON; 


sentiments of a fine poetess, whose power of describing scenery 
is equal to Eliza Cook's, than to see the natural scenery alone. 
I did not think of 1 Marion's Song,' when I saw Corie Lin. 
I was amazed at the stupendous grandeur of the scene, but 
unmindful that those wild romantic situations are the favorite 
haunts of the muses. Oh ! yes," he continued, u I admire 
Eliza Cook very much : I mean her poems. She is the only 
poet on either side of the ocean, I believe, who has ever made 
sentiment of the grunt of a pig” 

u Sentiment of the grunt of a pig ?" said I, for really I 
thought this the most singular expression I had ever heard ; 
and in spite of all the Doctor's gravity, I laughed at his odd 
remark, and asked him what he meant by saying that Eliza 
Cook could make a pig grunt sentimentally ? 

u You misapprehend me, Miss Elton. I meant that she had 
even manufactured sentiment with the grunt of a pig ! Do you 
not recollect her exquisite lines, in the song of ‘ JVorah Mc- 
Shane ,' where she says — 

“ ‘Oh ! there’s something so dear in the cot I was horn in, 

Though the walls are hut mud and the roof is but thatch ; 

How familiar the grunt of the pigs in the morning, 

What music in lifting the rusty old latch !’ ” 

I had forgotten “Norah McShane," and told him so, but 
said to myself, I never will forget the oddity of Dr. Finlay's 
remark. As we were now promenading the room, a servant 
came to call him out ; some one was ill, and had sent for him. 
He apologized, and reseated me on the sofa. I thought he was 
going away immediately, but he went into the lower parlor, and 
brought and introduced to me Mr. Upperton, a dashing-looking 

young gentleman, of the city of . I soon discovered 

that he was remarkably sprightly and handsome and well 
educated, and that he was far more cheerful than Dr. Finlay. 
I looked into the lower room, to see if I could catch a glimpse 
of Alva. He was seated beside a young lady who was re- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


29 


dining against the marble statue, representing Atlas hold- 
ing the world on his back, that upheld a massive mantel- 
piece, which was loaded with elegant ornaments. The soft 
light from the oriental lamp glowed above her, and was reflected 
gently from her pale cheeks, causing me to notice the sweet 
expression of her calm blue eyes. Her light, yellow ringlets 
seemed to quiver in the golden light, and I was surprised to 
see her lend such an attentive ear to the conversation of my 
brother, who I supposed was, like myself, a total stranger. Alva 
and the lady, were conversing as if they were old acquaint- 
ances, and I thought as I approached them, with Mr. Upper- 
ton, that I heard him call her 11 Eloretta.” Mr. Upperton 
was beginning to tell me of his first acquaintance with 
Alva. They had graduated at the same time, at the Univer- 
sity of , and were no little astonished, at this unexpected 

meeting at Green Haven. Presently, I observed a tall lady, 
gorgeously dressed, who had little, keen blue eyes, and skin as 
white as the cotton that bursts from the myriads of pericar- 
piums which had come to perfection upon her native soil. She 
was five feet, eight inches in height, and weighed about one hun- 
dred and five pounds. Her hair was of a pale red color, and 
her eyebrows and lashes perfectly white, but she was more 
elegantly dressed than any lady in the parlors. She came danc- 
ing towards Mr. Upperton and threw a small bouquet to 
him, laughed loudly, and pranced off. Mr. Upperton, turning 
to me said, “Miss Elton, do you know anything of the senti- 
ment of flowers ? In this bouquet, I find three sprigs. What 
definition is given in the floral lexicon to holly V ’ 

“ Think upon your vows,” said I. He smiled saying, “ My 
vows alas ! are like the first coats of ice that cover the little 
ponds and brooks in the fall of the year ; — they are extremely 
frangible. I must reform, and make no more vows to Miss 
Ashmore. Now tell me the definition of the hawthorn leaves, 
if you please, Miss Elton ?” 

“ Hope, I thee invoke,” said I. 

3 * 


30 


LOUISE ELTON; 


“ Well,” said Mr. Upperton, “a man might involve himself 
in considerable difficulty, if the laws of our commonwealth 
allowed flowers to be admitted in court as evidence against him. 
I must be more cautious in future, for fear that some of our ladies 
will have an act passed by our Legislature, to admit bouquets 
as evidence against gentlemen. I should be sued for a breach of 
promise, and perhaps be sentenced to the penitentiary, and the 
complainant have nothing to do but to present the jury a bou- 
quet. Now, Miss Elton, please define this wild rose for me.” 

“ It reminds you,” said I, “not to allow your unsophisticated 
heart to be corrupted by intercourse with the world.” I rather 
thought that this last sentence applied to me, and that the tall 
lady understood the definition of flowers well enough to have 
selected the wild rose, in order to remind Mr. Upperton that 
he was, by leaving her side, liable perhaps, to be corrupted 
by associating with a stranger. “ You will acquaint me 
with some of this gay lady’s secret,” I remarked to Mr. Up- 
perton, “ as you have requested me to translate the language of 
her flowers. They are very expressive ; — they speak the lan- 
guage of the heart.”— “ If all the bouquets Miss Ashmore has 
sent me, he said, “ were collected together, they would make 
a parterre as large as one of those belonging to the 1 swinging 
gardens of Babylon}— and if their language was translated 
and the MS. published in book-form, I would have a volume as 
large as Byron’s ‘ Childe Harold.’ ” As the lady of the mansion 
was in “ one of her ways,” and no one was allowed to open the 
piano, or strike the guitar, as music would certainly drive her 
mad, some one proposed cards, but I could not play ; and as 
Miss Morris and little Kate had not been in the parlor since 
supper-time, Dr. Einlay had left me, and I was not very much 
interested in the strange company, I then concluded to ring the 
little silver bell I saw on the table, call up a servant, and beg 
to be shown to bed. Lettie soon made her appearance, when I 
bade my brother good night, and left the gay crowd. I followed 
the servant through the apartments of this magnificent edifice, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


31 


across a wide gallery to the library, where she invited me to 
remain, till she spoke to her mistress. I did not sit down, for 
I was occupied with the furniture of the room, especially the 
four large book-cases which were so well filled. There was a 
lounge and sofa in the room, where the industrious student 
might recline in the arms of Somnus, after his toilsome travel 
to Mount Pierius, two old-fashioned rocking-chairs, a large 
mirror, two walnut tables, with deep drawers in them, these 
were unlocked and partly open, and I had curiosity enough 
to look at their contents. In the first was a skull, and from 
the marks on it, I concluded that Drs. Gall and Spurzheim had 
influenced some one to become a disciple of the science of cra- 
niology. The # phrenological locations were all surveyed and 
marked off with great accuracy, and if I had been favored with 
a companion, especially a gentleman , he would not have agreed 
that the skull belonged to one of his own sex, for the organs 
which make contrariness were exceedingly prominent. On 
one of the tables sat a small orrery, and on the other, a hand- 
some rosewood escritoire, with this epigraph, on a square piece 
of silver which was inserted into the cover of the case, u From 
Eugenius to Emily.” 

Four high wide windows permitted the disk of the pretty 
lunette, which shone brightly in the cerulean dome, to illumine 
this storehouse of literature and science. I walked to the side 
oriel to feast on the beauties of nature, and to inhale the rich 
night air, which ventilated this grand looking-apartment. This 
window was raised a little, and I had a fine view of the rear of 
the gentle hillock which upheld the magnificent mansion. From 
the base of the hill away off to the right was a wide grassy 
valley. Its surface was mantled in delicate verdure, sparkling 
with diamond-like globules, with which cohesion's plastic hand 
had strung the emerald grass. On the opposite side from the 
mansion flowed a deep transpicuous stream, separating the val- 
ley and a hill of medium height. The water of the brook 
reflecting the moon's light, rolled onward as gracefully and 


32 


LOUISE ELTON j 


brightly, as if the Naiades were floating over its surface, and 
dragging down the streamlet a trail of silver. Here Terra had 
lavished some of her most exquisite workmanship, and the 
scene looked enchanting enough to have been one of the favorite 
abodes of the wood-nymph. The few ancient oaks, that now 
and then bespotted the broad champaign, at the eastern side of 
the villa, boasted of trunks of sufficient dimensions to have 
been the dwellings of the Dryades. The distant hills were sym- 
metrical, green, and pretty enough to have formed thrones for 
the Orestiades ; and the surface of the small lakes was imper- 
vious to the rays of light, and so smooth that the fabled Nar- 
cissus might have used them as mirrors, or they might have been 
chosen as lavers by the Fluviales. 

When faithful Lettie returned, I inquired of her, where I 
was to sleep. “ I have asked Mistress," she replied, “ and she 
says if you are not a married lady, you can sleep in Miss Anna's 
room with Miss Kate." 

I told her, “ I was not married ; that I was travelling with 
my brother," and she conducted me to the other end of the 
long corridor. I was then ushered into the chamber of the go- 
verness and little Kate ) — just where I wished to be, for I ex- 
perienced an uncontrollable yearning after these two beings, 
and why, I could not tell, but there seemed to be a congeniality 
between us, from the first time I met them. When I entered 
their room, I noticed several large trunks and carpet-bags, 
which looked as if they belonged to some person or persons 
who had perchance as long a journey to perform as I had. My 
own baggage, I observed, was placed at the foot of a comforta- 
ble-looking couch, which was dressed off with yellow and white 
curtains, and an elegant muslin valance, that touched the 
flowers of the fine Brussels carpet. Miss Morris handed me a 
rocking-chair, and as she was remarkable for garrulity, she com- 
menced interrogating me about my family, my name, and place 
of destination. After I had satisfied her, I thought I would 
ask some questions. I inquired of her the name of that tall 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 33 

young lady I saw in the parlor after tea. Said I, “ She has sin- 
gular red hair, white eyebrows, and lashes.” “ Miss Carrie 
Ashmore,” replied Miss Morris, “ cousin of our little Kate ; 
niece, and adopted daughter of Mr. Charles Manville, the 
elderly gentleman you saw at tea. She is also the niece of 
Col. Manville, the proprietor of this villa. She's rude in com- 
pany, is she not ?” asked Miss Morris. “ She appears to be 
somewhat sprightly,” said I, “ but I do not think I should call 
her rude.” 11 She’s a girl of her own head, as the saying is,” 
continued Miss Morris, “of wealthy parentage, though poor 
now. She’s an orphan, of aristocratic family, but unfortunately 
on her father’s side they are people of weak minds. I have 
been told that Major Ashmore, her father, died in a bedlam. I 
do not think she will ever be a favorite with her venerable uncle; 
she is too vain, and light-headed. Mr. Charles Manville is one 
of the most retiring, sensible, religious men in the State, and 
dislikes everything that is pompous and noisy. The old gen- 
tleman seems to carry the marks of suffering in his aged coun- 
tenance ; he sighs deeply, and I often hear him groan ; they 
say there’s a dark mystery about his house, and that he has, in 
his life, witnessed some heart-rending scenes.” 

As this lady was so strangely communicative, I ventured to 
ask her the nature of those u dark scenes,” which she intima- 
ted had embittered the life of one, who seemed so pious and 
sad. “ I know nothing definite,” continued she. “ I have heard 
that he has been unfortunate with his family; ’tis said some one 
murdered his son, and that is sufficient to make one gloomy.” 
Wishing to change the conversation, as I discovered that this 
lady, if she knew more of the history of Mr. Manville, did not 
intend to tell me, I inquired of her, the name of that pretty 
girl I had seen in conversation with my brother. Said I, “ She 
had on a pink merino dress, trimmed with green gimp, and but- 
tons and green velvet.” “ Oh ! that is the celebrated Miss 
Woodman, one of the most wealthy, intelligent, and elegant of 
women.” Just as I was repeating her name to myself, try- 


34 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


ing to recollect who she was (for her name was familiar to me; 

I had certainly heard it, and had heard Alva speak of her too, 
hut I had lost sight of her), little Kate came into the room, 
approached Miss Morris and said, u Don’t you think it best for 
us to remain in the house till it grows late, and then go yonder? 
The moon shines, and I discover that the wind is changing 
towards the southwest'; it is much more mild now than it was 
at sundown. I have just examined the barometer, and it fore- 
tells rain.” “Til go at any time you wish me, Kate,” replied 
Miss Morris, then Kate approached me and said “ Miss Elton, 
we are going to make a visit by moonlight to a very sweet, 
melancholy spot, are you too much fatigued to go out ? if not we 
will be pleased if you accompany us : ; tis not far, — our old ser- 
vant Dorcas will go with us ; I suppose by this time you have 
heard all about it ;” then taking Miss Morris by the hand, she 
said, “ Tell the lady all about it, Miss Anna, — I cannot, you 
know.” The mystery when given to Miss Morris was soon un- 
veiled. The youthful, sweet and beautiful Kate was to be mar- 
ried the next morning ; the fashionable ladies and gentlemen 
were a portion of the guests invited to witness the ceremony : 
Kate’s trunks were packed, the bridegroom had taken lodgings 
within five miles of Green Haven, and Kate, with her younger 
sister, accompanied by Miss Morris, old mamma Dorcas, and 
myself, was going, after everything became tranquil, to shed 
some parting tears over her mother’s grave. Presently the noise 
and confusion of the mansion died away, and the duties of the 
domestics concluded. An aged servant woman now entered our 
room, leading a young girl, I suppose about eleven or twelve 
years of age. “ Where is Ada, Aunt Dorcas?” said Kate. 
“ She is asleep, and I was afraid to wake her,” answered the obe- 
dient old slave. “I had a great deal of trouble, Miss Kate, to 
get Miss Lizette ; she climbed out of the end window, and I 
knew if I called Ada, or Miss Liz aroused her, that your ma 
would scold all night about it.” Kate turned to me, and I saw 
her black orbs shining through the teai£ gathering over them. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 35 

She said to me, u Miss Elton, don’t you think that is enough to 
make me weep ? Our poor mother is buried at the corner of 
the garden ; I have chosen this silent hour to make a farewell 
visit to that hallowed spot. I shall leave here to-morrow 
morning ; the gentleman I am going to marry resides a great 
distance from Green Haven ; what is it a bad-tempered step- 
mother will not do ? Oh ! how I dislike to leave my sisters 
here, and how anxious I am to take Lizette and Ada with me. 
We are the last of eight children, and it seems as if we ought 
not to be separated. If we were to awaken Ada, and our step- 
mother know it, and she would certainly find it out , she would 
quarrel all night about it, and perhaps rouse the whole house- 
hold with her spasms ; for whenever she gets angry she flies 
into a spasm, and it distresses our father so much, that we avoid 
everything that is calculated to agitate her. It seems very cu- 
rious in her to get angry too, which she never fails to do, when- 
ever our mother’s name is mentioned, or she sees us at her 
grave.” Miss Morris then spoke. u Dear Kate, go without 
Ada, and do not think about your step-mother again. You 
know she must not be disturbed; Ada is asleep; poor child, she 
has had the toothache, let her sleep ; the night air might not 
be good for her ; ’tis best as it is, so come along before it gets 
too late, or rains.” Kate wiped the tears from her pretty 
cheeks, put on a short black coat, and tied a handkerchief 
over her dark curls. Miss Morris put on her shawl and bonnet, 
and as I had not unhooked my travelling dress, I had only to 
throw a veil over my head and I was ready to go. “Walk 
easily,” whispered Miss Morris, as we stealthily crossed the 
gallery. We reached safely the back door, went down a flight 
of steps, painted yellow, in + o a long walk, well paved with 
brick, to the garden gate. We entered the main walk, which 
was long and wide. Here everything looked new, as well as 
about the house and yard. Everything had been repaired, and 
was kept in grand style. I could see in this enclosure no deep 
shaded bowers, no ragged cliffs in the back ground, no dark ivy 


36 


LOUISE ELTON; 


shades, no deep ancient groves for the night birds to grieve in, 
no wild scenery, no rustic seats, no moss-covered stones, no 
solitary pine clusters for the night breezes to wail through. 
The shrubbery then was all young. The long walks were bound- 
ed on the east and west by beds of loam, and abundantly filled 
with roots and shrubs of many species. In the spring-time, 
this elegant garden boasted of all the delicate and gorgeous 
flowers which dazzle the eye and please the senses. I noticed 
a great variety of evergreens, but the southern sunbeams had 
withered many of the gayest flowers. It looked as if Flora had 
retreated into some secluded grotto, and during her absence the 
wanton gales of autumn had shaken to the earth the flowered 
leaves, which had so short a time before decorated the vines 
and young trees with delicate green drapery. We trod silently 
along, nothing interrupting the stillness of the night but the 
mournful bleating and neighing of the tethered cattle, on the 
distant plains, and the crush of the dry leaves that lay in the 
wide path. At length we made a curve to the left, walked 
about fifty paces down a narrow walk, bordered with box-trees, 
cut in all the fantastic shapes imaginable. This path led to 
Kate’s mother’s grave, or rather her place of rest, for we saw 
no grave. It was covered by a tall white marble monument ; 
an iron railing surrounded it, and a small gate of which Dor- 
cas had the key, led into this sacred abode. The old negress 
unlocked it, and Kate, holding Lizette by the hand, entered 
the enclosure, and both knelt down and leaned against the snow- 
white stone. This was a solemn scene, and one that I have 
often adverted to. The recollection of the countenances of 
those two affectionate sisters, kneeling in silent prayer before 
the dumb, cold pillar that hid the form of a deceased mother, 
both, perhaps, fearing that this was the last visit, they were 
ever to make together to that loved tomb,— the anticipated 
marriage,— the bride saying farewell to her father, her sisters, 
her youthful friends, the faithful old servants, and her home 
— all these things clustered around my heart, and impressed 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 37 

me with recollections too indelible to be washed away by all 
the waters in the deep sea of time. A gleam of moonlight 
fell upon that side of the monument on which I stood. Just 
above the plinth, I read this inscription, “ In memory of Emily 
and Lavinia,” and on the north side, “ My Julia and Edwin 
lie here •” on the front was recorded the name and many 
virtues of “ Mrs. Fidelia Manville.” Not far from this was 
a cenotaph, erected in memory of Waldegrave, who, I learned 
from the epitaph, fell at the famous battle of the Alamo, in 
Texas, in 1836. I almost shed tears when I read the inscrip- 
tion : it reminded me of the gallant Milam and Travis and Evans 
and Crocket and Bowie, and the famous watchword, u Remem- 
ber the Alamo /" The monument and cenotaph were specimens 
which bespoke the skill of the architect, and corresponded with 
the appearance of everything else about this fine place. The 
monument stood on a ground-plot which was about twenty feet 
square, raised two feet and covered with high grass. The base 
of the marble was perhaps eight feet square, with four gradu- 
ating slabs, placed one on the other, the shaft standing about 
eight feet above the pedestal, and the chapiter was decorated 
with an urn, with flowers and birds sculptured around the rim. 
There knelt little Kate, holding the hand of Lizette, and 
moistening the pale stone with their pious and innocent tears, 
till they trembled with anguish : both of them shivered in the 
moonlight. After they arose, I saw Kate take hold of a rose- 
vine and place it on the slabs- of marble. She spoke to the 
old servant and said, “ Aunt Dorcas, I planted this rose-vine here 
last spring ; it used to clamber over sister Emily's bower. I wish 
you to come here every now and then, and attend to it ; I want 
it to run round the base of the monument like a wreath. I 
wish you to notice the cypress and weeping willow, also, that 
wave over poor brother Waldegrave' s cenotaph then she cast 
a sad look at the monument again, and I heard her whisper, 
“ Farewell ! farewell ! loved shades ! long, long will it be ere I 
revisit you. Peradventure the springtime of my existence 

4 


38 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


will have vanished, the riper years of summer may have flown • 
the melancholy shades of autumn may gather over me, or the 
winter of death entomb me : I may never behold this sacred 
spot again. Never return, perhaps, 

“ ‘ To ask the listening grove, 

Where are the mates who joined me in your shades ? 

To feel at once the whole remembered load of joys and griefs 

Upon the struggling heart, 

And breathe the deep-drawn sigh for friends much loved, 

Now buried in long sleep.’ ” 


CHAPTER VI. 

I awoke early in the morning. I had not closed my eyes 
to sleep till after the clock struck two. My thoughts were so 
scattered and confused, after I retired, as I was thinking of 
the adventures and discoveries of the preceding day and night, 
I could not sleep, and I rose often on the bed, exclaiming, 
e< Macbeth hath murdered sleep. ” The only repose I enjoyed 
was some time after two o’clock. I was also taking a retro- 
spect of what Alva and I had gone through in twenty-four 
hours. On the day of our arrival at Green Haven, we had 
travelled nearly forty miles over a rough road ; had become 
acquainted with some of the most elegant people I had ever 
seen ; had been affected by their tales of domestic grief; heard 
a portion of their good fortune; and were being entertained by 
their hospitable hands. As Kate had remarked the night 
before, the wind had changed to the southwest, and a heavy 
rain had fallen during the night. The morning was cloudy, 
and the atmosphere cool and vapory. We were called from 
our rooms to a very early breakfast, and at the board met the 
same strange guests of the night before. Dr. Finlay continued 
to act as my escort, and after the ceremonies of the breakfast 
table were over, the ladies, impatient as they usually are upon 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 30 

such occasions, retired to their rooms to dress for the wedding. 
I had not then seen the lady of the mansion, but was told that 
a night’s rest had restored her to her usual health, and that 
her nerves were sufficiently strong to bear the excitement of 
company. As there were so many ladies and gentlemen, Kate 
could not, even in that spacious mansion, have a room to her- 
self, and I being an occupant of the one with herself and Miss 
Morris, had the pleasure of dressing her for the occasion. I 
love to assist a bride to dress — I don’t know why either ; but 
there is then a kind of melancholy pleasure and interest which 
always inspires me. After awhile Lizette and Ada came into 
the room, the massive door was closed, and Kate was to 
promenade her father’s stately halls but once again as Miss 
Kate Manville. A courier had arrived, announcing that Mr. 
Percy, the expected bridegroom, would arrive at nine o’clock. 
“ Kate,” said Miss Morris, “ be ready, my dear girl !” and we 
both went to work to assist the bride, and then to array our- 
selves. Notwithstanding the morning’s rain, we were every 
now and then advised of the arrivals of the invited company, 
which was large and gay. We could see the carriages from 
our windows, and heard the flutter of the umbrellas as they 
were raised to protect the ladies from the weather. As the 
doors were sometimes opened to admit the passing in and out 
of the servants, we could see that a large party was collecting, 
and that the parlors above stairs would soon be filled with 
u barons bold and ladies gay.” I wondered not a little that 
Miss Ashmore or some of the relations did not come to see 
about Kate, and that she had no bridemaids. Miss Carrie 
Ashmore, however, was too busily engaged practising the 
honors of her own boudoir ) too much pleased with that dis- 
tinguished personage myself, to bestow any attention upon 
Cousin Kate. Moreover, Kate was the elder of the two, — 
Carrie just u sweet seventeen ,” and Kate twenty. Carrie was 
still a u thoughtless schoolgirl ,” as some are called when they 
choose to act the child to appear younger than they really are. 


40 


LOUISE ELTONj 


Very young and very thoughtless, some might say , but Miss 
Morris would declare her very headstrong, ill-natured, and old 
enough to be violently in love with Harry Upperton. Some of 
the elderly ladies of the neighborhood were acting as matrons 
about the table, and as Kate was so much accustomed to the 
society of Miss Morris and her two little sisters, she seemed to 
think but little of any of her relations, except her father, and 
her amiable uncle, Dr. Finlay, and old Mr. Charles Man- 
ville. The bridegroom, u true to his charge” came about nine 
o’clock. As the time was drawing near for the final close, Dr. 
Finlay tapped at our door. He was invited in, and I saw him 
surveying Kate from head to foot. She was dressed in a rich 
white watered silk dress, white gloves, white slippers, a pearl 
breast-pin in her bosom, and a string of pearls encircled her 
pretty neck. Her long shiny black curls waved over her 
shoulders and around her modest face, without any ornament 
except the lustre with which nature had glossed them. Miss 
Morris was dressed in crimson silk velvet, with black lace 
trimmings, and wore many elegant jewels. I wore a green 
silk dress, trimmed with two flounces, a chemisette of French 
work, ornamented with pink rosettes, had my hair dressed with 
crape myrtle, and wore pink kid gloves. I saw Dr. Finlay 
look at me too, and he seemed pleased to see me “ dressed up” 
The Doctor told us when we were ready, to go up to the parlor 
No. 4, and that Mr. Percy would receive Kate and be 
married in the opposite room. We followed his direction, and 
at ten o’clock Col. Manville came into the room, kissed Kate, 
and as he brushed away the tear that was dimming his parental 
eye, he said, “ Ladies, are you all ready ? < for behold the 
bridegroom cometh ; arise and trim your larr{ps. } ” Then he 
took Lizette by one hand and Ada by the other, and led them 
into the opposite rooms. Dr. Finlay had sent for Alva to 
come up and conduct Miss Morris into the marriage apartment, 
which he did, and I had the Doctor’s arm to the same room, 
where I was presented to Mrs. Manville. She was seated in 
one of those elegant rocking-chairs near the window, dressed in 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 41 

a fine purple silk dress, trimmed with three black lace flounces, 
and a large crape scarf, embroidered all over, enveloped her 
bony shoulders. She wore a thin cap, trimmed with yellow 
ribbon, and some small clusters of yellow calceolaria in the tabs 
of her cap. I never saw a greater profusion of jewelry. She 
wore a watch, a heavy gold chain, a buckle at her waist set 
with diamonds and emerald, a pair of long gold ear-rings, a 
large breast-pin, and her fingers were decorated with pearls and 
other gems of great value. She wore four elegant bracelets. 
On her right wrist she had one of gold links fastened with a 
large clasp set with rubies ; the other on the left wrist was in 
the form of a serpent, with its head lodging under a gold star, 
richly chased, and this had a diamond set in the centre. On 
her left arm she wore a broad gold band, and above this one 
she had another composed of cameos, with three large sets. 
The stone in the centre had cut on it the statue of Niobe, 
represented as weeping, and stupified with grief. The other 
two had a representation of Aurora metamorphosing her 
husband into a grasshopper, and Mercury, in the disguise of a 
shepherd, playing upon his pipe, and the hundred-eyed Argus 
falling to sleep. There was beautifully wrought on them a 
peacock, with its tail spread out to receive the eyes of Argus, 
so soon as Io escaped, and the wrath of Juno fell upon him. 
Mrs. Manville was tall and bony ; had a large hooked nose, 
like the bill of an eagle, and fierce glaring gray eyes. Her 
jaws were sunk and her forehead low. I could not tell what 
the natural color of her hair was, for her head was covered 
with a dark-brown wig and a fine cap. Her mouth was large, 
and her teeth exceedingly prominent and long, and she con- 
tinually exposed a large portion of wrought gold, proving that 
she had been a liberal patroness to dental surgery. She 
received me with formal politeness, catechised me severely, and 
made me think that in haughtiness she was a Catherine of 
Braganza, and in temper a second Xantippe. She did not 
embarrass me, however, though she seemed to be endeavoring 

4 * 


42 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


to do so. I soon discovered that she was very uneasy in her 
manners, stiff and affected, hut I had been communing so long 
in my library with illustrious personages, that I felt unem- 
barrassed in her presence. My inward resources seemed to 
afford me protection against her airs and her frowns. Dr. 
Finlay handed me to a chair, not far from Mrs. Manville; 
and after I was seated, she said, “ Miss, I do not know your 
name, but I suppose you are a Yankee lady ?” “ Oh no, 

madam,” said I, “ my parents were natives of a Southern 
State; I never saw New England in my life; and have had 
but few associations with people of any of the free States , 
as they are called.” Then I asked her what made her think 
me a Yankee. “Well, I do not know what,” replied she, 
“ nothing particularly ; it seemed to me that you were ; for I 
understood from some of the family that you lived at the North, 
and I did not know whether the gentleman with you is a 
relation or not ; as it is more customary for the women of 
the Eastern and Northern States to be travelling about than our 
women.” I thought, perhaps, that our unceremonious intru- 
sion at Green Haven had induced her to think strangely of me ; 
so I explained to her how we came there, and why I was 
dressed to attend her daughter’s wedding. I took particular 
pains to show her that I had no “ Yankee actions for, in 
the course of the conversation, I discovered that she had an 
inexpugnable hatred for the people of the Eastern and Nor- 
thern States. She informed me that she travelled through 
those States one summer ; and that the vile abolitionists stole 
her old servant, and she had no sick-nurse but a gross, awk- 
ward Dutch woman, who left her one day in a fit of passion 
when she was in a spasm. I was more attracted by her voice 
than anything else, and never heard anything that I could 
compare it to, but the shrill, cutting notes of E sharp on the 
violin, when I have seen my uncle take hold of the thumb- 
screws and tune the instrument, then draw a well-rosined bow 
five or six times across that keen fine string. I now saw the 
large folding-doors slide into the walls, at about half after ten 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


43 


o’clock ; and in the first parlor, as it was called, stood Mr. 
Percy with the angelic Kate hanging on his arm. The clergy- 
man went forward, and all was still. Then commenced the 
solemnization of the matrimonial rite, after good old Episcopa- 
lian style. Not a sound disturbed the silence of the audience ; 
nothing was heard but the solemn and earnest voice of the 
reverend personage, till the ring was placed by the bridegroom 
on the white finger of Kate’s beautiful little hand. Then in 
an audible, manly tone, that vibrated upon the nerves like 
some holy and musical sound, Mr. Percy said, “ With this ring 
I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” &c. 
&c. After awhile they were pronounced u man and wife” — 
the minister’s blessing was poured out upon them, they looking 
as happy as Milton has represented our first parents when they 
u stood whispering soft by a fresh fountain’s side.” They 
seemed to me to be models of earthly purity, the very imper- 
sonation of the pair that roved the bowers of Paradise, — who 
associated with angels, and listened to their voices sometimes 
floating on the gales of Eden, as they soared away to heaven. 
After the ceremony was over, the usual gratulations were 
offered to the wedded pair by the family and numerous friends, 
with but one exception : Mrs. Manville did not leave her chair, 
neither did Kate approach her. The gentlemen and ladies 
were promenading in the halls, and through the long rooms, 
when Miss Morris came to me, and inquired if I performed on 
the piano or guitar. I told her I played only for my own 
amusement; that my songs and dances were too ancient 
entirely to play before such a fashionable assembly ; that my 
brother Alva was a music-master ; that he had been teaching 
music on the piano, guitar, and violin ; but I begged to be 
excused. About this time I saw some gentleman conducting 
Miss Carrie Ashmore to the piano, and the crowd gathered 
quickly around her. She ran hastily over the keys, # and com- 
menced one of Mozart’s fine waltzes. She performed admira- 
bly, and one might have concluded that her knowledge of the 


44 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


theory of this grand science was thorough, considering her 
age. She had long arms, and long keen fingers, and “ handled 
the piano” with perfect ease. She was a brisk performer too; 
and the seeming interest excited in the minds of the company 
by the loud, strong, rich notes bound them all in silence to 
one spot. After enchanting the assembly with the famous 
waltzes of Mozart, she turned the leaves of the music-book 
before her, and played one of Haydn’s magnificent marine 
marches. This was truly elegant ; ’twas like 

“ A sound that comes on the rising breeze, 

A sweet and lovely sound.” 

Then she played one of those grand oratorios of Handel, u that 
entrance the senses,” that seem to raise the spirits gently from 
this earth, and bear them away on the pinions of fancy to 
the bowers in the fabled Elysian fields. Carrie Ashmore’s 
performance pleased everybody ; all the amateurs of music 
yielded her the civic wreath ; but there was one to whom her 
little blue eye wandered for approbation ; — one who made her 
young heart throb with violence, and her hand tremble upon 
the strings of the guitar. Perhaps this emotion gave a more 
sweet expression and greater power to her music than it would 
otherwise have possessed. I have thought sometimes that it is 
thus with the musician as well as the poet, for when musicians 
play merely by theory, the action is so mechanical, that the 
piece loses a great deal of that softness, sweetness, and gentle- 
ness of expression which might be given it nine times out of 
ten if the person was a little excited by the tender passion. I 
dislike the productions of these cool calculating poets. They 
are what I call hibernal writers or frigorifics, who compose 
without enlisting the feelings of the heart. Some excuse them 
by saying that they are too philosophical to love, and write 
none but^the poetry of reason and good sense. — After music, 
the assembly were notified that the refectory was unclosed, and 
all repaired thither. “ The tables groaned with the weight of 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 45 

the feast,” loaded as they were with all the luxuries and deli- 
cacies of every climate. About twelve o’clock, Kate left the 
great hall to put on her travelling dress. I believed that I 
was going too. We had stayed to the wedding by special 
invitation from Col. Manville, Kate, and Dr. Finlay, but the 
day was fast waning away, so I went into Miss Morris’s room, 
where I had lodged the past night to repack my trunk, in 
order to go across the country to Mr. George Lampton’s. I 
found in the room the venerable old Charles Manville, Kate, 
Col. Manville, Dr. Finlay, Lizette, and Ada. Kate and the 
little girls were weeping, and I heard her say, “ Pa, I wish 
you would send Liz and Ada away from here. I know how 
kind Uncle Charles will be to them, and as you are necessarily 
compelled to leave home a great deal, and Miss Morris will be 
gone, I do not like the idea of our step-mother having the 
exclusive management of Lizette and Ada.” “Be consoled 
then, my dear daughter,” said Col. Manville, “ the children 
shall go home with Brother Charles. I will advertise at once 
for a governess for them, and I will send them to Manville 
Hall immediately.” “ Oh pa !” said Kate, “ I thank you so 
kindly for the arrangement ;” and addressing old Mr. Manville, 
she said, “Dear uncle, if you could know one-half of the 
trouble and mortification I have seen in my own father’s house, 
caused by a bad-tempered step-mother, you would not censure 
me for begging pa to send Lizette and Ada away from her. 
Now I shall go away satisfied.” The porter came in, about 
this time, and the bride’s trunks were carried out. Kate 
tied her bonnet on, kissed us all, and was received at the door 
of the chamber by her husband. He conducted her to the 
portico, where there was a general rush to bid the bride adieu. 
The carriage that was to convey her away was drawn up near 
the front steps, the same that, on the evening before, I 
had ascended with so much uncertainty of mind, and so much 
timidity. Col. Manville stood at the carriage, and again em- 
braced his daughter, saying, “Farewell, my child; write to 


46 


LOUISE ELTON; 


your father.” I listened, for I wanted to hear the tones of 
Kate’s sweet voice once more, but she was top deeply affected 
to speak above a whisper. Those tears which ran over her 
pale cheeks spoke more eloquently of her strength of attach- 
ment and sorrow at parting with her father, sisters, her uncles, 
and the scenes of her youthful affection, than could be expressed 
by all the tender language of poetry and romance. Yes, 
thought I, there’s a religious reality in those tears, “ some 
delicate nerve of the heart is wrought upon,” and they are not 
lost by those for whom they fall, but are gathered and preserved 
within the bosoms of those who truly love one another. I 
shall never forget the parting look of little Kate at the group 
who stood upon the portico at Green Haven, nor that affection- 
ate embrace of Hr. Finlay and Llewellyn Percy. These gentle- 
men shook hands very cordially, then inclined their faces toge- 
ther, and no one ever saw a more fervent kiss, or heard a more 
musical smack of the lips than they gave each other. I had 
often observed that females were addicted to kissing when they 
meet, and frequently had done so myself when meeting or 
parting with those of my most intimate acquaintances, but 
when Hr. Finlay kissed Llewellyn Percy, I murmured to myself 
“well done !” but I never before saw two men conclude their 
valedictory with such an affectionate kiss. The newly-made 
husband and wife were soon shut within the carriage, ker- 
chiefs were waved from the lofty balconies and the portico, 
the two little sisters stood upon the steps with Hr. Finlay, 
Colonel Manville, and his venerable-looking brother Charles, 
gazing at the carriage that was conveying away those who were 
so dearly beloved, and as I caught the last glimpse of little 
Kate, she was looking from the window of the carriage, bidding 
adieu to the vales, the shades, the vines, the forest trees, the 
wild birds that were merrily warbling in the hedges, and to the 
winding streams that laved the base of the distant hill, which 
soon obstructed her line of vision, and she was out of sight of 
the affectionate father, sisters, uncles, and friends who were 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 47 

so eagerly gazing after her. Reader, it may seem as if it 
would be a gay and cheerful time to marry and leave home, 
but such of my lady readers as have experienced the reality, 
and have parted with those so dear to them as relations gene- 
rally are, will remember that they have shed many a tear at 
leaving home, directly after marriage too. There is something 
very solemn in it, at least, and if you think there is not, my 
dear girls, wait till you marry and leave home as little Kate has 
done, and then you will find that it is not only a day of joy, 
festivity, and gratulations, but one of serious reflection and 
tears. As I left the window, this pathetic stanza arose within 
my mind, for I had once heard the same repeated by a lovely, 
blooming young woman, who married, left her home, and died 
in the South. 

“ See’st thou my home ? ’tis where yon woods are waving, 

In their dark richness, to the summer air ; 

Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, 

Leads down the hill a vein of life — ’tis there.” 

My reflections were broken, however, by a conversation I 
heard between old Mr. Charles Manville and Dr. Finlay. 
The former gentleman said, “Walter, you did not object to the 
marriage, I presume, of course, as there is not a better man 
living than Llewellyn ?” “ Not at all,” said Dr. Finlay ; “ I 

was, too,” continued he, “ in favor of the marriage of my dear 
Lavinia and Llewellyn, but she had no health. I opposed it 
solely on account of her delicate constitution. It was the 
same thing with Emily and Eugenius. I told Emily she 
ought not to think of marrying. I knew her to be a dying 
woman ; that she had consumption of the lungs ; and I could 
not bear the idea of her marrying. I was rather amused at 
Kate ; for when Llewellyn proposed marriage to her, she came 
to me, saying, ‘ Uncle Doctor, I love Llewellyn Percy, and he 
has asked me to marry him. I know that if you think I am 
organized like sister Lavinia or sister Emily, you will say 


48 


LOUISE ELTON; 


directly, u Kate, you have got the consumption, and you must 
tell Llewellyn that you are too unhealthy to get married ; that 
Uncle Doctor says so, and there the matter will end.” Now, 
uncle/ continued she, ‘ do tell me if I am to marry Llewellyn 
or not V I told her Yes ; that she was a healthy, strong, rosy 
young woman, and that she might tell Llewellyn that I had 
consented to their marriage.” “ All right,” said Mr. Charles 
Manville ; “ Kate is a lovely woman ; she has become the wife, 
too, of one whom I love as a son. She will render him happy, 
and ever be, 

“A guardian angel o’er his life presiding, 

Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing ; 

Winning him back when mingling in the throng — 

Back from a world we love, alas ! too long ; 

To fireside happiness — to hours of ease, 

Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.’ ” 


CHAPTER VII. 

Aeter the departure of most of the company, I began to 
look around for my brother. I discovered him in the lower 
parlor, in conversation with the same lady by whose side I had 
left him overnight. I advanced to him, and said, “ Bro- 
ther, it is time that we were leaving. Had you not better go 
and see about our baggage, buggy, &c. ? We will make it late 
in the night before we reach a hotel. Colonel Manville 
has informed me that it is forty miles to Mr. Lampton’s, 
and that the road thither is exceedingly rough and hilly.” 
“ Oh, never mind, sister,” replied he ; “ have you had any 
conversation with that elderly gentleman, Mr. Charles Man- 
ville ?” I told him I had not. “ Well,” continued Alva, “I 
have ; and I can tell you that it is probable you may not leave 
here for a week, and perhaps longer. It is useless for you to 
go to Mr. Lampton’s. His wife is dead, and Charlotte and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


49 


Evelina are married and gone. He has no one with him but 
his servants and overseer. There is no company there for you. 
I can go and collect the two thousand dollars, and you must 
stay here till I return. It appears that Col. Manville married 

his wife in the city of . She wishes to return there and 

spend the winter. Her husband, of course, goes with her. 
Miss Kate is -married and gone, and will probably not return 
for several years. In about a month, the governess, Miss 
Morris, is to depart also. Mr. Manville and the Colonel pro- 
pose to me to remain here till after the dispersion of the wed- 
ding guests — and you see how fast they are leaving — in order 
that they may have an opportunity to converse with yourself. 
Mr. Charles Manville, whom I discover is to arrange the mat- 
ter (with your consent), wishes to propose to you to go home 
with him, and become the governess of Col. Manville’s two 
little daughters. We occupied the same chamber last night, 
and I found him to be a pious, intelligent, old gentleman. He 
made a great many inquiries of me concerning your educational 
acquirements and your age. He seemed highly gratified when 
I told him that you had been a governess, and that you were now 
desirous of engaging in the same employment. He begs an 
interview with you, which I have taken the liberty, dear Sis, 
to promise. He is extremely wealthy, and you will be hand- 
somely remunerated, and have nothing to do but to educate 
the two little Manville girls. You will, of course, reside in 
his family. He lives at an ancient, romantic place, in the 

State of , not far from the thrifty town of ■. You are 

such an admirer of nature, Louise, that I believe you will be 
pleased with his retired home. It is a long way from here. 

I passed it once in going from home to the University of . 

You can see the blue tops of the mountains that surround his 
ancient residence. You can cull wild flowers from their rug- 
ged sides, and moss from the old rocks. There you may listen 
to the roar of the perennial cataract, run along the banks of 
the meandering river that bounds the southern limits of his 

6 


50 


LOUISE ELTON; 


extensive domain, and contemplate tlie wonders and beauties 
of nature beneath the lofty old trees that shade its banks. 
He says there’s an old church close by, where his family go to 
worship ; and if you think proper to make the bargain and 
remain with him, you can for years regale the epicurean appe- 
tite of your intellect upon the vast amount of mental luxury 
which, he says, he has stored away in his library. Moreover, 
Sis, I have had the pleasure of meeting two old college chums 
here : Harry Upperton and young Hoff. The latter has his 
cousin Flore tta with him — that same cousin of whom you have 
heard me speak so often. The first time I ever saw her she 
called at the boarding-house of the University, where her 
brother lay ill. Her gay companions were on a jaunt to the 
White Sulphur Springs in Virginia, but so soon as she found 
how ill her brother was, her trunks were hauled off of the 
coach, and she watched by his bedside many long sad days, 
and slept not through the gloomy nights, till he was out of 
danger. I fell in love with her, Louise. I must introduce 
you to her. There she comes now. She’s 1 a bonnie , sweet, 
sonsie lassie / too, as Burns would say.” After we were intro- 
duced, Flore tta informed me, “ that she was well acquainted 
with Alva at the University, and that she regretted that I did 
not witness the meeting between Harry Upperton, her cousin 
Boff, and Alva ; that they seemed really happy to meet again ; 
and that she had also been deeply interested in their relation 
of the events which had occurred as three years had been 
rolling away.” — I made arrangements to remain at G-reen 
Haven ; for Mr. Charles Manville had come to me, and insisted 
on having a conversation with me, and Col. Manville advised 
me to remain, and let Alva go over to Mr. Lampton’s alone. 
It suited Alva very well, as the beautiful Floretta Woodman 
resided near Mr. Lampton, and he intended to gallant her 
home. Do not, charitable reader, be surprised when I tell you 
that my stay at Green Haven was the means of introducing 
my brother to the family of Miss Woodman; of his collecting 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 51 

two thousand dollars from old Gen. Lampton, sure enough ; 
and that on that day fifteen months precisely, he married the 
modest, pretty woman, in whom there was a conjunction of 
amiability, sweetness, and intelligence, and a sufiiciency of 
innocence for her to be compared to the little butterfly, that 
fans, with silvery blue wings, the beds of pinks, thyme, and 
lavender in her own pretty garden ; and she was as truthful as 
the ring-doves, that coo all day in the China trees and the 
hedges of rose and crape myrtle which ornament the rural 
homestead of her widowed mother. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

At half after four o' clock on the afternoon of the wedding- 
day, I was sitting in the parlor alone, meditating upon what 
“a day may bring forth.” The gay crowd, who had glided 
through the stately halls during the morning, were all gone. 
Colonel Manville was acting as sick-nurse in his wife’s chamber : 
the confusion of the wedding had prostrated her again. Miss 
Morris and Mrs. Fisher were gathering the fragments of the 
feast together, and acting the housewife ; Carrie Ashmore had 
gone to sleep ; Lizette and Ada were in the library. I could 
hear them singing, and striking the strings of Kate’s guitar. 
Dr. Finlay was again off on professional business. Old Mr. 
Charles Manville was resting on the top of his staff in a little 
cottage, in view of the balcony. I could see his u lint-white 
locks he looked so patriarchal, that I roved away back to 
the days of Abraham, and compared him with that venerable 
old sire, sad and melancholy, as he must have been, when he 
sojourned, a stranger, in the land of Hebron, when Sarah died, 
and he begged of Ephron a place to hide her dead body from 
his sight. I wondered what sorrows this good old man had 
passed through ; what species of misfortune had clouded 
his pathway; what were his thoughts; and what was the 
load that depressed him. I had almost forgotten that Miss 


52 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


Morris had intimated that there was a mystery about his house 
( old Manville Hall) ; but what it was, she did not tell. She 
said that his son had been murdered, and the murdering of 
one’s son is sufficient to cast a shade over us so long as life 
lasts. Never, thought I, were those beautiful verses so com- 
pletely verified as they now are. I feel the reality forcibly ; I 
almost startle, as fancy wings to my ear the merry laugh, and 
loud music of the morning. It looked as if I had been dream- 
ing ; then I repeated, again and again, those verses, so expres- 
sive of my situation — 

“I feel like one who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall, deserted, 

Whose lights are fled, 

Whose garland’s dead, 

And all but he departed.” 

My reverie was broken, after a while ; for Miss Morris came 
in, with Lizette and Ada playing about her. “ Miss Elton/’ 
said she, “Mr. Manville has learned from your brother that 
you will be pleased to become a governess. Kate, I am sure, 
has said enough in your presence, to convince you that she 
wishes these children removed from Green Haven, particularly 
on account of the unkind treatment they receive at the hands 
of their stepmother. They are to be carried to Manville Hall, 
the residence of their uncle. Mr. Manville requested me to ask 
you to come out to the office ; he is quite indisposed this after- 
noon, and, as is common with him, greatly depressed in spirits. 
Poor old man ! he has had enough trouble to sadden him.” 

I followed Miss Morris to the office, and as I have described 
the furniture, &c., of all the other apartments, I must not pass 
over this one. It seemed to be filled with the old-fashioned 
furniture of an old house, that, perhaps, thought I, which the 
first wife had. The room was about twenty feet square, an old 
Scotch carpet covered the floor, an ancient mirror was suspended 
between two narrow windows ; one old desk, a table, a bed, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 53 

six Windsor chairs, a settee, two tin spittoons, and an old book- 
case, constituted the furniture, except the number and variety 
of paintings in narrow, old, gilt frames, that hung closely 
around the apartment. When I entered the office, Mr. Man- 
ville saw that I was noticing these pictures, and he very con- 
siderately remarked, “ Go round and look at them all till you 
are satisfied, then sit here by me, and I will talk to you about 
going home with me/' He remarked further, “ These paint- 
ings were executed by two lovely women. I love to see you 
admire them, and it seems to me that you resemble Lavinia, 
my niece, who died some time ago. Poor Yinnie ! she was a 
sweet, good girl.” I first noticed the landscape over the 
mantel-piece : it was very large, and represented the rocks and 
hills of Loch Katrine, in Scotland, — that wild, romantic lake, 
so beautifully described by the poets, especially Walter Scott 
in his “ Lady of the Lake.” Its dark, shaded glens, and huge 
rocks projecting from the cliffs, — the willow and birch trees 
waving over its banks, the lowly hawthorn, and the wild, ragged 
top of Mount Ben Lomond, then, in the distance, a partial 
view of a dark grotto, with its entrance covered with vines, 
and the rock above it, with the famous Rob Roy standing 
there, his knife in his belt, and his black plume waving to and 
fro in the Caledonian sunshine. All the stories and legends 
of ancient romance were called to mind, as I gazed on the 
representation of this stupendous scenery. Mr. Manville still 
sat with his eyes downward ; he seemed almost unmindful that 
there was any one in the room, or near him. I saw that he 
was disposed to wait till I. was satisfied with a survey of the 
other paintings, that were hung around the cottage, and which 
seemed to speak to me more eloquently than the human tongue 
can speak, or the pen describe. I always loved Madame de 
Stacks ideas of sculpture and painting. “ Sculpture,” said 
she, “is the heathen, and painting the Christian art.” I 
next examined a Swiss valley, painted by the elder sister, 
Miss Emily Manville ) representing a Swiss cottage in a deep 

5 * 


54 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


vale, with a vine-covered bower, on the side of a mountain, 
the retreat of the chamois, as it seemed to have been chased 
by the hunter from an old ruined castle, that showed a part 
of its ancient turrets and spires in the distance, all covered 
with vines and grown over with turf and moss. The most in- 
teresting one was near the door : it was a painting of the cot- 
tage of Robert Burns. How I wished that Alva could have 
seen it, he was such an enthusiastic admirer of Burns. Every- 
thing pertaining to that rural bard interested my brother; 
and there was painted his clay cottage, and native, gloomy- 
looking hills in the background, — the rough little stream, that 
washed his natal sod, flowing onward through a labyrinth of 
rocks, clad with wild vines; indeed, nothing had been for- 
gotten; for there were painted the deep hedges of hawthorn, 
the dells, the flowers, the birds, and u green braes ” that Burns 
u has twined into so many beautiful and affecting idyls.” As 
I looked at this picture, I almost wept at the thought that 
such tasteful genius as these paintings portrayed, such beauty 
of intellect, and such embellished understanding as must have 
belonged to the designers, should have to die such an untimely 
death as I had learned that Misses Emily and Lavinia died. I 
turned from them towards the aged, melancholy old man, will- 
ing to forget that the artists who painted these eloquent pic- 
tures were no more. I could not bear to think of them, though 
total strangers to me, for the contrast was too vivid : the hands 
that spread these lively colors were all gone to dust, — ay, 
shut up in the chamber of death, where a few brief days would 
carry us all. I approached Mr. Manville, who raised his 
fatherly hand, took me by the arm, and said, “ Sit down.” I 
broke the stillness of the moment first. I said, “ I have been 
spell-bound, delighted, and saddened, gazing at the paintings 
of those grand old places; not a vine, nor a leaf, a winding 
rivulet, a path through the dingles and brakes, a pebbly shore, 
nor murmuring cascade, has escaped me, all look so natural ; 
and although I never have seen those romantic places, I have 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


55 


studied their geography, till I think I have an intuitive know- 
ledge of them, and this is why I declare they look natural. 
I see them plainly, I think, and hear the water murmur in my 
imagination, and again repeat the beautiful sentiment from 
Madame de Stael, who said, 1 Paintings seem to speak to us 
from the canvass/ ” “ If you will go home with me to Man- 

ville Hall,” rejoined the old gentleman, “ and he the gouvernante 
of Lizette and Ada, as you are so fond of landscape paintings, 
I think I can show you some scenes on the banks of the river 
that flows near my house, that will inspire you still more with 
the admiration of scenes drawn from nature. All of the oldest 
members of our family are natives of Scotland. The girls 
knew how delighted my brother, Colonel Manville, and my 
sisters were, as well as myself, whenever anything was shown 
us relative to our native country, so they have painted almost 
all the Caledonian landscapes of which they have so often 
heard us speak. My granddaughter is quite an artist too, and 
has painted some large pieces also,” and then he again hung 
his head and groaned, so that I thought I would endeavor to 
call his attention again, and ask him a few questions ; so said 
I, “ Mr. Manville, is your granddaughter dead too ?” u No, 
my dear,” he replied; and I thought I saw tears gathering over 
his ancient orbs ; then he moved his chair closer to mine, and 
said, “ I have sent for you, and, like a good girl, you have 
come to me, and I wish you to tell me if you think you can 
go home with me, and be the gouvernante of Lizette and Ada ? 
I have promised their sister, Kate, that I will remove them to 
Manville Hall, my residence, as they are so unpleasantly situ- 
ated here. Their father, some years ago, married a very 
supercilious, unkind, and tyrannical woman, whom the step- 
daughters have never liked. Miss Anna Morris, the lady 
gouvernante of Green Haven, designs leaving here also in a few 
weeks; my brother, Colonel Manville, is going with his wife to 
spend the winter with her own mother, in a distant city, and 
as there is no school in this neighborhood, and I am not willing 


56 


LOUISE ELTON; 


for Lizette and Ada to be sent amongst strangers at a board- 
ing-school yet awhile, I have determined to carry them home 
with me. Their sisters and mother, who sleep under that tall 
white stone yonder, in the corner of the garden, would rather 
see me take charge of Lizette and Ada, than any one else. I 
am satisfied, could they speak from the grave, they would tell 
Colonel Manville to give those children to me. I shall start 
to-morrow morning, with my niece, Miss Ashmore. I am 
going to carry her back to the academy where I have stationed 
her, until she shall complete her education. I expect to return 
to Green Haven in a few weeks, accompanied by my two sisters. 
My widowed sister, Mrs. Newland, has disposed of her planta- 
tion and negroes. Her health is delicate, and she cannot now 
manage her plantation. My house is to be her home for the 
remainder of her life. My other sister is a maiden lady, and 
is also going to my house to remain. I live in a very secluded 
place, Miss Elton. I have a large, but ancient mansion, and 
live a lonely life. I rarely leave home ; but came down to 
visit my brother, and to see Kate married; besides I have a 

son who lives near my sister in the county of , in this 

State, and when I take Carrie again to the academy, visit my 
son, and get my sisters, I will return to Green Haven, and 
then go to Manville Hall. I wish you to remain here, my 
dear daughter, if you can, till I return, and then go on with 
us, and commence the ensuing year with the little girls. I 
will pay you the customary price; but I wish to employ a 
lady who will stay closely at the Hall, and from the account 
your brother gave me of yourself, I concluded directly that you 
are just of the disposition that we wish our gouvernante to be. 
You can have my horses, carriage, and servants to go to the 

little town of , whenever you have matters to attend to ; 

and you can attend the small church close by if you choose. 
My neighborhood is very thinly settled; but for amusement, 
and in place of company, you shall have everything that I am 
capable of affording you. I have a son who married several 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


57 


years ago; he was, at one time, one of the greatest students I 
ever saw ; he has left an ancient and extensive library at my 
house; to this, you can have access. I have my grounds about 
my house laid out in long walks, all well gravelled. I have 
some ancient trees, and rare shrubbery. You can walk about 
the yard and garden for exercise, after the duties of the day 
are over. I have a small green-house, and you can relieve 
the monotony of walking in the garden and court-yard by 
visiting the plants in the hot-beds, and examining them. 
Your brother informed me that you are a scientific botanist, 
and a dear lover of all Nature’s works. I tell you pre- 
cisely what will be your situation if you reside with me. I 
live amongst the mountains, and old Manville Hall is a sad- 
looking place. I find it extremely difficult to persuade a lady 
to go there, as the most of your sex, Miss Elton, are averse to 
solitude and solitary places ; and, indeed, I do not blame them ; 
but, it seemed to me, when I first saw you, that you are the 
lady who will go home with me. I wish you to reflect upon 
this subject, and tell me to-morrow what you will do? Let 
me entreat you, however, not to allow any one to frighten you 
about Manville Hall. I have seen more sorrow there than all 
the remainder of my family, but one unfortunate, poor creature, 
my granddaughter; but there is nothing thereabouts that can 
harm you. I make this last remark, Miss, because people talk 
too much sometimes, and Miss Morris, I fear, has heard that 
Manville Hall is haunted with ghosts. There is nothing 
vicious in Miss Anna, but as she has heard of its seclusion, she 
often represents it as being a horrible, lonely, and gloomy 
place.” The old gentleman seemed very melancholy, and when 
he spoke of his granddaughter, I saw a tear steal down the 
“ furrows of his aged cheeks.” I felt an ungovernable curiosity, 
and I said, “ Mr. Manville, you say your granddaughter is an 
unfortunate, poor creature ; what calamity has befallen her ? I 
wish to sympathize with you in your affliction, and I notice how 
much you are distressed when you repeat her name, or rather 
when you say ‘ my granddaughter.’ I thought, perhaps, that 


58 


LOUISE ELTON } 


she had lost her life by some sudden and dreadful misfortune. 

I regretted that I asked this question ; for I saw that the 
tender-hearted old man was again moved to tears. At length, 
he replied, “I believe I said she was unfortunate , — yes, 
truly so ; but she was not killed. We all have sorrow in 
this life, my daughter; and do you not know that it is our in- 
heritance ? Do you recollect what writer says, ‘ That sorrow 
and disappointment are temporary trials sent by Heaven to 
correct and improve us; and when not occasioned by any 
conscious imprudence, ought to be endured with patience V ” I 
replied, “The sentiment was very salutary,” but I could not 
recollect the name of the author of it. “ And, now,” said I, 
“ Mr. Manville, I am pleased with your proposition, and will 
consent to become your gouvernante ; but I must first go home. 
I have been living in the South for some time as a governess, 
and am anxious to go home. Chance has brought me hither, 
I verily believe. My mother is rather an aged lady, and I 
have not seen her for several years ; she now resides with my 
married brother, and if it will suit you, I will go home, as 
soon as my brother collects his money from Mr. Lampton, and 
some time about the middle of January, or first of February, 
you may look for me at Manville Hall ; but it is entirely incon- 
venient for me to go with you till I have seen my mother.” 
The old gentleman seemed a little disappointed to know that I 
was determined to go home before I went to Manville Hall. I 
was very much pleased with his proposal, and pleased with 
himself. I resolved at once to accede to his proposition, de- 
termining, however, to see my mother, although mountains, 
and rivers, and valleys, lay between the home of my brother 
and Manville Hall. We were now called to the tea-table, and 
after partaking of the refreshments thereon, I retired, at a 
very early hour, with Miss Morris, to her luxuriant couch, 
where we soon fell into the embraces of Somnus, as 

“Softly as roses, on a summer’s eve, 

Beneath the small sighs of the western wind 
Drop to the earth.” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


59 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was now pretty well understood throughout the household 
that I was to remain at Green Haven till my brother returned, 
and that I had consented to go to Manville Hall to be the gouver- 
nante of Lizette and Ada. After breakfast, I saw Col. Man- 
ville in the parlor, who informed me that he would be satisfied 
with anything his brother Charles and his wife should do in the 
matter, and that he wished me to repair to his chamber and 
have a conversation with Mrs. Manville, who was too much in- 
disposed to leave her room. I accompanied the Colonel into 
the presence of this aristocratic lady. She was tolerably 
polite, giving me, however, the same stare that I noticed 
when I was presented to her in the parlor, on the morning of 
the wedding. She appeared like a woman who had been ac- 
customed all her life to govern, — to have had husband, children, 
and servants, all under her dominion ; proving to me clearly by 
her actions, that she had been, from a very early age, impressed 
with a strong and habitual persuasion that she ought to rule 
and reign, in her little canton, unmolested by any one. She 
was dressed in a green merino wrapper, lined all through with 
pink silk, quilted in small squares, had on pink kid slippers, 
and a rich lace cap : this was her morning costume. Her apart- 
ment was furnished with all the elegance and taste of an Oriental 
palace : her foot rested upon a crimson velvet cushion, and turn 
to which side soever you chose, your person was reflected from 
the large mirrors that hung around the walls. The brass 
knobs about the stove shone as brightly as gold ; the carpet 
and sofas were elegant; but what spoiled all, and most at- 
tracted my attention, was an article, very conspicuously sus- 
pended by a twine string at the side of the mantelpiece, called 
a long keen red cowhide. u Miss,” said she, after I had been 
seated some time, waiting for her ladyship to break the silence, 
“ I understand, from Col. Manville, my husband, that you are 


60 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


a governess. You look very youthful to take charge of the girls. 
Do you think yourself qualified and sufficiently experienced to 
take my step-daughters and educate them ?” tl I think so, 
said I. “ Well, tell me how old arc you?” “I will be twenty- 
two next March,” I replied. “ Now tell me,” said she, 
(( if you are willing to go to Manville Hall, and stay there 
amongst the mountains, in seclusion ; for, to be plain with 
you, you must allow me to inform you that you will have no 
society at all, and without you intend to remain there, I 
advise you not to go. It seems very strange that a woman of 
your appearance should take a notion to bury herself alive. 
Manville Hall is one of the loneliest places in the world, and 
nobody but a Manville or some of their tribe , can live at such 
a gloomy old pile.” Said I, “ Mrs. Manville, you are all 
strangers to me. I came to your house accidentally. I have 
taught school in the family of a gentleman in the South, and 
feel competent to instruct girls like your little step-daughters, 
or of any other age or size, in everything except music. I have 
never taught music, and never intend to do so. As to the loneli- 
ness of the home of Mr. Charles Manville, I care nothing for 
it. I think I am naturally of a happy temperament, and de- 
sire to spend the remainder of my life as a governess, or to be 
employed in some profitable pursuit.” I told her I felt very 
grateful to the family for their hospitality and kindness to my 
brother and myself, and that I had agreed to go to Manville 
Hall about the middle of the ensuing January, or the first of 
February. I determined to be positive with her, for I saw di- 
rectly how overbearing she was, and that her strongest forte 
was circumvallated only by her assumed air of superiority, and 
notwithstanding her wealth, her arrogance, her presumption, 
and self-importance, I discovered that her educational acquire- 
ments were inferior to my own, and as I had all my life been 
told that I was the last woman in the world who could be em- 
barrassed by one of my own sex, I felt perfectly at my ease in 
her presence, and ardently wished that she would question me 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


61 


upon some of the leading features of history, or the general 
principles of mathematics, rhetoric, or philosophy, but she did 
not venture to do so. She informed me that she was married 
to her third husband, and had two sets of children ; two daugh- 
ters, Augusta and Laura, were at school in the city of ; 

that her two sons, Theodore and Douglas, were at college ; that 
she was going to visit her native city, where her daughters were 
boarding with her mother ; that she intended to bring them to 
Green Haven the next summer ; that she had been compelled to 
carry them away, because there was a perpetual uproar with the 
Manville children and her own ; and that, if I deemed myself 
competent, she wished me to go to Manville Hall and teach 
Lizette and Ada. She said she wished them instructed in the 
common branches ) that it was useless to attempt accomplish- 
ments or embellishments ; that Lizette was naturally a coarse, 
rude, disagreeable child, and that Ada had the consumption, 
and like Emily and Lavinia would die before she was twenty 
years of age ; but, said she, further, “ You know how unplea- 
sant it is to have two or three sets of children about a house, 
especially when they are being educated ; after they are matured, 
of course, they will have more prudence than to be daily disput- 
ing, and worrying one another. My first husband was named 
Haddington ) he died and left me a widow with two children, 
Douglas and Laura. I married a second time, a gentleman of 
the name of Danetson ; I have two children of his name, Au- 
gusta and Theodore. I am naturally of a very nervous tempera- 
ment, and I do not know what is to become of me when I get 
the Haddingtons, and Danetsons, and Manvilles, all under the 
same roof. I think it best at present to send Lizette and Ada 
away to Manville Hall. I hope my health may be improved, 
before they all congregate here again. The responsibility of 
one’s own children is very great, but not to compare with the 
restraint one feels as a stepmother. You see, Miss, that I am 
exceedingly particular, and I want you to promise me that you 
will make the children wear aprons to fasten around the neck, 

6 


62 


LOUISE ELTON; 


and I positively forbid their wearing pantalettes, unless they 
go into company ; for I think it is all nonsense for children 
so secluded, to be dressed like those who are at schools in 
cities. Reading, writing, and spelling, are as many branches 
as they will ever have any business to know. I have some 
books left here by Augusta and Theodore ; they are of my own 
selection. Colonel Manville leaves everything to me, and you 
can take them along for the children to use. I wish them 
taught to write a running hand, and as I am in the habit of mak- 
ing them say two or three verses before they retire of a night, I 
hope you will not neglect this all-important matter. I gene- 
rally select passages from the Old Testament, say in the Psalms, 
Proverbs, Book of Job, or any other I may think proper. You 
must not permit them to retire without getting down on their 
knees beside yourself and saying their prayers : I never fail to 
make them observe this duty, and I hope you will feel your ob- 
ligation to God, to them, to Colonel Manville, and myself. Do 
not fail to make them repeat the Lord’s Prayer every morning, 
when they first get out of bed : I do this in order that it may 
have a restraining influence on them through the day, and I 
wish you to see to this very important matter, and recollect 
that it is your bounden duty to make them attend to repeating 
prayers, and if they are not willing to do as directed by older 
persons, you ought to resort to some mild punishment. I have 
striven very faithfully to make them good children ; to make 
them obedient, and to infuse into their young minds a reve- 
rence for God, and the doctrines of pure religion. I regret 
deeply that I ever became a stepmother, for children are gene- 
rally so ungrateful, that no matter what you do for them you re- 
ceive no thanks for it, and continually hear it whispered through 
the house, ‘ that our mother did thus and so.' It makes no 
difference with me ; I am determined to do as I please ; I brought 
as much property here as Colonel Manville had, nearly all of 
this fine silver plate that you see here belonged to me. My 
second husband gave it to me the day after our marriage ; poor 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


63 


Mr. Danetson ! Do you not see it is all marked P. D ? that was 
my name, Penelope Danetson ! Lettie,” she then screamed out, 
u bring me that middle-sized silver waiter and those goblets 
here. I wish you to look at that elegant service, Miss, and tell 
me if you have ever seen anything more elegant and massive, 
and if it is not entirely too fine to be battered and bruised by 
step-children ? but,” said she, checking herself, “ we are off of 
the subject. Do you promise me to manage these children in 
question as I have directed you ?” 

“ Mrs. Manville,” said I, “ the father and uncle of these 
children have engaged me to be the governess of them. I 
have consented to undertake nothing but their education. As 
regards their aprons, pantalettes, prayers, and religion, I shall 
have nothing to do with them. I am neither a preacher nor a 
dressing-maid. Mr. Manville made no such request of me ; 
and, to be plain with you, I am not religious myself, and it would 
look rather inconsistent in me to be as you suggest, forcing and 
punishing a poor little child about religion, when I am not a 
Christian, except in theory.” “ Well, then, Miss, you will 
not fulfil your duty ; and your God will hold you accounta- 
ble for so great a sin of omission ; and, as I have my conscien- 
tious scruples upon this subject, I feel it my duty to inform 
Col. Manville that you are not a professor, and that you refuse 
to teach Lizette and Ada Christianity, and that I am fearful 
that you are sceptical, but, rather than make such a charge 
against you, I will be pleased to hear your views on this 
interesting subject. Now, do tell me, will you, Miss, what 
you think of Christianity ; what is it according to your idea ? 
for surely you have read the Bible.” “ I have been taught,” 
rejoined I, “from my cradle, to believe that Christianity is the 
religion of all who believe in Jesus Christ as the Saviour of 
mankind, and who receive the Holy Scriptures as the record of 
God.” “Well,” said she, “your definition will do, but I 
would like to know what denomination you have been reared 
amongst; for I wish Lizette and Ada to think and believe 


64 


LOUISE ELTON 3 


just as I do.” “Well, well,” said I, “it matters not who 
taught me to think and act. I can promise you that I will 
not set your children a bad example, or teach them anything 
of which you will be ashamed or disapprove. I know that I 
am competent to educate them as Mr. and Col. Manville de- 
sire them to be educated 3 but, with the subject of religion 
I do not intend to trouble them. This is a land where the 
spirit of Christianity is abroad. Its fundamental principles 
are generally admitted and acknowledged, the differences of 
the sects exist only in matters of trivial importance 3 and as 
there is so general a sympathy, and so much Christian 
philanthropy amongst people of every denomination, such a 
coincidence in the essential principles of Christianity, that 
there is no danger of these children, even if they never say a 
prayer till old enough to have 1 zeal and knowledge/ ” I did 
not feel the least afraid of this great lady 3 nor would I have 
cared a cent if she had dismissed me 3 but this I felt satisfied 
she could not, and would not do if it was in her power, for she 
was rejoicing that the road had at last opened, and that the 
two little step-daughters were soon to travel out of her way. 
I relied on my own firmness and decision, as it has ever been 
a fixed rule with me never to yield to the tyrannical and un- 
learned, when I am convinced that I am correct in my course, 
and that they are only boasting, to hear themselves talk, and to 
endeavor to make others believe that they are better than those 
persons we commonly meet. I have always sought for that 
species of personal reliance and independence calculated to 
sustain one in life, and have passed a resolution never to 
attempt to argue or controvert a subject upon which I am 
uninformed. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that I am 
uninformed, and always desire the admonition of those 
who are educated, and I feel perfectly willing to receive 
instruction from those who are capable of imparting it. All 
the time that Mrs. Manville had been conversing with me, 
Lizette and Ada sat one on each side of her, with their books 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


65 


open upon their laps, attending to us. It appeared that Miss 
Morris had for almost a year been afflicted with a chronic 
ophthalmia, and had taught the children very little for several 
months. Mrs. Manville requested me to take Lizette’s book, 
and question her upon her lesson. I took the book from her, 
and found it to be “ Dick’s Christian Philosophy.” Lizette 
was on a page headed “ Chemistry.” I questioned her upon 
hydrogen, carbon, fixed air, and nitrous oxide ; but the child 
knew no more about them than her vain, conceited stepmother 
who sat near her, with as much self-importance and confidence 
as if she had been an acknowledged Aspasia, Zenobia, Hannah 
More, or Lady Mary Wortley Montague ! 


CHAPTER X. 

On the fourth day of my stay at Green Haven, as Miss 
Morris and I were together in her room, I informed her that I 
had consented to go home, settle my business, and then travel 
over the mountains, rivers, and hills to Manville Hall, and 
commence a second time in life as a governess. As we were 
conversing, I thought from her communication, &c. &c., that 
she was not an American, or rather a native of the United 
States, and as she was so very inquisitive, I deemed it 
not inconsistent to ask her to what nation she belonged. I 
I discovered that her u language though inelegant was not un- 
grammatical,” and not very inelegant either. She seemed to 
be pretty well informed. Howbeit, I could discover that her 
accent was foreign, and her articulation not so pure as our own. 
She cut off her words too short, and galloped through her 
phrases so swiftly that her tongue seemed to double, and ren- 
der her pronunciation indistinct. She clipped her words as if 
her tongue had been a pair of shears. She told me that she 
would tell me her history, if I wished to hear it ; and, as I was 

6 * 


66 


LOUISE ELTON \ 


in want of amusement, I told her to proceed, that I would 
listen to her with pleasure. 

STORY OE MISS ANNA MORRIS. 

“When I left England, my father was engaged in the 
manufacture of woollens in Huddersfield. My mother died 
when I was fifteen years old. I have two sisters older than I. 
My eldest sister, Amelia, was married to a cutler of Sheffield. 
I left two brothers in England working in the factories : one 
in an establishment at Leeds, and the other with my father 
in Huddersfield. After the death of our mother, sister Caro- 
line and myself went to reside with our elder sister. There 
came one day to Sheffield a gentleman of the name of Wells. 
He was a native of Gloucester, away down on the Severn, and 
by trade a pin-maker. He formed an attachment for sister 
Caroline, and married her. I was not so fortunate as most of 
the members of my family, I had no trade; every one of 
the grown ones had trades ; and as I was so much attached 
to sister Caroline, I made arrangements to go home with 
her to Gloucester. It is not very common for the women of 
England to love to travel about ; but I always loved to roam ; 
and long before I had an opportunity to quit Huddersfield, I 
was heartily tired of the old dark walls of the town, and the tops 
of the Cheviot Hills around the place of my nativity. I resided 
with sister Caroline three years, without anything of especial 
interest transpiring, till one day, as I was walking in the 
streets of Gloucester, I saw a group of females, and amongst 
them a lady who tottered as she walked, and seemed to be 
very sick. I quickened my pace, and, when I overtook them, 
I discovered that they were people of quality, and that the 
sick-looking person had fallen on the stones of the side-walk, 
and that her face was greatly bruised, and her arm broken. I 
had a vial of volatile salts, which I applied to her nostrils, and 
it revived her so much that she asked me to accompany her 
home. She begged also to take the vial, for fear of another 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 67 

vertigo, to which she had been subject for a great while. She 
said she had left her mother’s house in company with her 
sister, to exercise on foot; that her physicians had directed 
her to take exercise, and that she felt a rush of blood suddenly 
to her head, and had fallen, and was badly hurt. I accom- 
panied the persons who were aiding her, and presently they 
conducted her into her mother’s house. It was a fine, strong, 
old building : massive and dark in its appearance. Its great 
heavy oak doors and G-othic windows showed the architectural 
skill of at least one hundred years previous to that day. All 
within was comfortable and convenient, and now and then new- 
fashioned elegancies were exhibited, which proved a rejuvenes- 
cence of the interior, spite of the antiquated features of the 
walls of the exterior. I found the lady with the broken 
arm to be a Mrs. Deptford, who had returned to Eng- 
land, the previous winter, to visit her mother. She had 
emigrated, a few years before that time, with her husband, to 
Canada, and resided in the city of Quebec, and intended to 
start homewards the next week but her arm was now broken, 
and her general health very precarious. I told her, after awhile, 
that I must go home; that I had been out later than usual, and 
that my sister would be uneasy about me. * She seemed to 
become fond of me directly, told me she had no nurse, and 
that her husband was absent from home a great deal, and that 
she would pay me high wages if I would nurse her, and go 
home to Quebec, and live with her. I thought it would be a 
good berth for me, so I ran home to tell sister Caroline of the 
change I was desirous of making. My sister objected to my 
going so far as America, but I was of age, and incited with a 
desire to see the world. I accordingly packed my small stock 
of clothing in an old portmanteau, and repaired to the bedside 
of my new employer. She suffered a great deal, and it was 
six weeks before she was able to raise herself in bed without 
assistance. Her husband, Mr. William Deptford, was one 
of the best of men. He treated me with great politeness, and 


68 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


always bestowed upon his suffering wife the most delicate 
attention. At my request, he wrote to my father of the 
change I had made, and that I was going to cross ‘ the deep 
blue sea/ and reside in Quebec. I was anxious for the day to 
dawn on which I was to emerge from the fog of England. I 
longed to roam far away, I cared not much whither, and was 
happy that my father did not oppose me ; for Mr. Deptford 
had promised me, and my father too, that he would send me 
to school ; and as the only advantage I had had of acquiring 
an education, was through the Lancasterian system, of course 
my stock of learning was very small. My father asked me to 
come and see him before I left our native Isle. I did so, and 
after spending one week with himself, my brothers, and sister 
Amelia, I bade them adieu, and shed a few tears as I gazed 
for the last time at the dark old piles of Huddersfield and 
Sheffield. We embarked at Bristol on the Avon, and on the 
sixtieth day after I bade farewell to the distant green tops of 
the Mendip Hills and the tall spires of Bristol, we arrived at 
Quebec. Ifi a short time after reaching that city, Mrs. Dept- 
ford discovered that my education was even more limited than 
she believed it was when we first became acquainted, and she 
determined to send me to school at once. I buried myself in 
a convent for three years. When I came out I was pretty 
thoroughly educated. My parents were Protestants, but I was 
educated by the Eoman Catholics. Mrs. Deptford was, as she 
called herself, an ingrain Catholic. I applied myself very 
closely, and the abbess, who had the care of me, bestowed 
great attention upon me. I left the convent four months earlier 
than I intended, in consequence of the ill health of my bene- 
factress, for, when I got to my new home, I found Mrs. Dept- 
ford almost in the last stage of consumption. Winter was fast 
approaching, and the cold would soon be too intense for the deli- 
cate frame of Mrs. D. Her physician recommended a southern 
climate, as the extremes of heat and cold are so great in Que- 
bec, that they are very trying to the constitution of a delicate 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 69 

person. I have noticed the thermometer in Quebec often, and 
many a time in summer I have seen the mercury at 96°, 97°, 
and 99°, and the last winter I spent in the convent, it sunk 
several times to 30° and 40° below the freezing point. We 
left Quebec about the last week in September, and reached the 

city of in October. We carried Mrs. Deptford to a 

hotel, and laid her on a sofa in the parlor. She was very 
weak, and coughed till she was almost exhausted. She rested 
on the sofa till a room was got ready for her, to which she was 
borne in the arms of her devoted husband. The next time I 
saw her lying on that sofa, she was a corpse. She died just 
three weeks after she arrived in that city. I found myself 
a stranger, and on a strange shore ; but, as I was well enough 
educated to become a governess for small children, I was com- 
mended to Colonel Manville, who had lately married the gay, 
dashing, rich widow, Danetson, of that city. Mrs. Manville 
called upon me, and told me if I could teach the French lan- 
guage she would employ me ; that she was going, in a few 

days, with her new husband to his seat in the State of ; 

that there was no academy in his neighborhood; and that 
Colonel Manville had requested her to superintend the educa- 
tion of his children ; and as it was her intention to carry three 
of her own children to Green Haven, she desired that they 
should all be taught the French language. I was quite at 
home in that fashionable tongue, having studied it attentively 
during my pupilage in the convent, and had conversed also in 
that idiom for three years. I re-packed my trunks, for I had 
a lot of fine clothing then. Yery different, I thought, was my 
situation from the day I packed my wardrobe in the old port- 
manteau, and left sister Caroline in tears at my departure. I 
had sufficient means to procure such necessaries as I required, 
and at Mrs. Deptford’s decease I fell heir to two hundred 
dollars which she gave me, also her gold watch, and her most 
costly jewels. The Manville family is one of the most wealthy 
and fashionable in the United States. My situation has been a 


70 


LOUISE ELTON; 


very pleasant one, so far as Colonel Manville and his daughters 
are concerned. When I jpame here, Misses Emily, Lavinia, 
and Julia were alive. They were often at Manville Hall, with 
their uncle, for they did not like their stepmother at all. I 
loved the girls, and it made Mrs. Manville dislike me. She 
brought me here, and she seemed to think that I ought to 
have agreed that she was always right and the girls wrong. 
This I could not do, for I never saw a more agreeable family 
of children in my life than those of Colonel Manville. She 
removed her own children, because she thought that I did not do 
them justice, and charged me with being partial to the Man- 
villes. She came very near prejudicing the Colonel against 
me, too, but I had the influence of Emily, Lavinia, and Julia; 
and since I have taken Kate, Lizette, and Ada off her hands, 
she has not meddled with me so often. Everything has gone 
on very quietly since her children were sent away, except when 
she takes a spasm , to which she is subject. If you disagree 
with her upon any subject, ten to one if she does not scream 
out, and the first thing you know she is prostrate on the floor, 
screaming, and almost in convulsions. All this is the result 
of a very bad temper, nothing else in the world ; for, I assure 
you, Miss Elton, that a greater tyrant, nor a woman having 
a more unamiable disposition, never lived. I have seen 
four of Colonel Manville’s children buried since I came to 
Green Haven ; and now I cannot close my narrative without 
expressing my delight that Lizette and Ada are to go to 
Manville Hall, and that you are to be their governess. I could 
not have gone away happy, if I had been compelled to leave 
them here. I should ever regret it, and it would always 
seem to me that the spirits of their elder sisters were censur- 
ing me for leaving them in the hands of their cruel step- 
mother.^ 

“Then,” said I, after listening attentively to Miss Morris’s 
history and remarks, “ is departure compulsory on your part, 
or why do you go away?”— “Oh,” said she, smiling, “you 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


71 


will make me tell you all. I expect to be married next 
Thursday week.” — u Married said I, startled and fright- 
ened. Yes, gentle reader, startled and frightened. And 
can you guess why I was frightened? I presume you cannot; 
for I had no acquaintance with Miss Morris’s affairs. There 
was no cause for me to be so frightened ; but as I skilfully 
concealed my agitation from her, I yet felt very uneasy, and 
was afraid to ask her to whom she was engaged to be married ; 
for it appeared to me that it was to Dr. Finlay, and I did 
not want her to have him. And why, I knew not. She 
was a clever woman apparently, and I knew I did not love the 
Doctor. Still, I had formed such an exalted opinion of his 
great moral excellence, and of his intellectual acquirements, 
and 1 thought I discovered that he was a little eccentric too, 
it seemed to me that very few women could please him, even if 
he did marry. He had been very kind and polite to us, — had 
behaved like an elder brother to me. I cannot exactly explain 
my feelings. I admired him from the first hour I saw him ; 
but I did not love him. Somehow, I feared that he would not 
be pleased with Miss Morris. Then I said, What a simpleton 
am I ! Dr. Finlay has resided in the Manville family with 
Miss Morris for seven years — what am I thinking about, and 
how foolish in me to feel a single anxiety about a matter that 
is none of my business ! I knew, too, that I had promised 
myself that I would never love again. I had been disappointed 
in marriage when I was eighteen years of age, and when my 
loved one died, I buried my heart with him also, far away, 
across the ocean. Love ! said I. I smiled at the name. 
The idol of my heart had perished in a foreign country ; his 
grave was where the nutmeg trees bloom, — where the cinnamon 
leaves breathe their spicy gales over the land, — where the 
cocoanut and talipot wave over the Oriental pagoda, — where 
the blossoms of the alma bedeck the ground, and where the 
nightingale grieves forth her melancholy song in the bowers 
of rose and sweet myrtle, that perfume the gales of India. 


72 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Yes, he roamed away to Hindostan and Persia in search of the 
Eldorado, and the bowers of Hjgeia. He thought that travel- 
ling would restore his broken health ; but, alas ! he neither 
found Hygeia’s groves nor Eldorado’s healthful founts. — After 
I had thought a while, my moral courage predominated; then, 
said I, u Miss Morris, are you going to marry Dr. Finlay ?” — 
e< Oh no,” quickly replied she, and greatly to my relief ; “ I 
became acquainted, some years ago, with a gentleman of the 
name of Kipton, who first visited this house in company with 
a Major Barrick, to whom Miss Emily Manville was engaged 
to be married ; but consumption, — 0 consumption ! it blighted 
that sweet flower, just as the morning sun of life had warmed 
and expanded the rose-bud into a delicate, beautiful blossom. 
What made you ask me if I was going to marry Dr. Finlay ?” 
— “ Nothing, nothing at all,” said I ; and as guilt was so per- 
ceptible in my eye, I turned away from the penetrating glance 
of Miss Morris, and remarked, “ I thought, perhaps, you were 
going to marry him, as you have resided together so long ; you 
must be very well acquainted with each other.” — “ We have 
been acquainted for a great while,” rejoined Miss Anna, “ and 
the Doctor has always declared that he believes in the doctrine 
of first love. He loved a lady, a great many years ago ; but 
did not marry her. He is too intellectual, as some think, to 
dream of love ; but I do not believe it. He declared to me, on 
the morning of Kate’s wedding, that he was pleased with you, 
and he said, also, that if he was to call you Louise two or three 
times, that he would fall desperately in love with you, — that 
there is something in the name of Louise that always electrifies 
him.” I smiled, and told Miss Morris that she must be a phre- 
nologist ; that I believed my organ of approbativeness was large, 
and that she had pleased me very much, and that I thanked 
her for the flattery she lavished upon me. “ No flattery at all, 
Miss Elton ; and as I am in possession of a very interesting 
family history wherein Dr. Finlay is concerned, if you like to 
hear it, I will relate it to you?”—' “ I am sure,” said I, “ there 


73 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 

can be no impropriety, and, moreover, I love to listen to you.” 
— “We must do something to amuse ourselves, and I do not 
disclose family secrets for the sake of gossip, or because I am 
a tattler,” continued Miss Morris; “ but if you will listen to 
the histories of Dr. Finlay, Emily, Lavinia, and Julia Manville, 
I am sure you will say, at the conclusion, that I have unveiled 
to you the arcana of a great deal of human nature. Your 
brother, I understand, Miss Elton, has gone perhaps fifty miles 
from this place to collect money, and to sing love-songs to 
Floretta Woodman. He will be compelled to visit Harry 
Upperton and young Hoff, his old college mates; Floretta is 
so beautiful and amiable, he will not tear himself from her; 
and if I can interest you during his absence, I am willing to do 
so. But the servant is now ringing the bell for dinner: let us 
go to the table, and after we return to our room, I will first tell 
you Dr. Finlay’s story, then Lavinia’ s, Emily’s, Waldegrave’s, 
Julia’s, and Edwin’s.” 

STORY OF DR. FINLAY. 

In consequence of the preparations Miss Morris was making 
for her anticipated nuptials, we did not meet in her chamber 
till late next morning. My impatience was very great, for she 
had promised to tell me the story of Dr. Finlay. W^hen we 
were together once more, she remarked, “ Miss Elton, I pre- 
sume you would like to listen to the story of your friend, Dr. 
Finlay, first ?” — “ Oh, yes,” said I, “ tell it ; I am more inte- 
rested in the story of the Doctor than that of any one else.” — 
Well,” said Miss Morris, “ I have heard him declare, for a 
great while, that it is impossible for him to love. He has re- 
sided at Green Haven for several years, and. is a native of the 

State of . While he was acquiring his education, in the 

c ity of , the lady with whom he was boarding brought her 

niece to her residence. The young lady’s name was Louise 
Banthier; she was of French extraction on the side of her 

7 


74 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


father. The Doctor paid her the attention that young gen- 
tlemen at college usually extend to young ladies at boarding- 
houses. He gallanted her to church, escorted her to parties, 
circuses, and theatres, and on Christmas and New Year’s Days 
made her some handsome presents. Sometimes he composed 
and sent to her a few tender sonnets ; all of which Louise re- 
ceived and cherished. The Doctor was a close student, and 
resolved to penetrate into all the mysteries of the sciences. 
He discovered that Louise was extremely well read, and that 
she was well acquainted with the French language ; that her 
mind was fertile, and her heart benevolent. She, of course, 
became an object of great interest to Dr. Finlay, and he pro- 
posed to her one day, as she was reviewing the French poets, that 
she would allow him to become her pupil, and instruct him in 
that polite tongue. To this request, Louise readily consented, 
and furnished * Walter,’ as she familiarly addressed Dr. Finlay, 
with her own elementary works. She taught him the alphabet, 
then learned him to spell, and she used to sit with him for 
hours correcting and improving him in orthoepy and ortho- 
graphy, and took particular pains to teach him the proper pro- 
nunciation of the vowel u , and the consonant q. He resided 
in the city four years, and with the additional assistance, 
occasionally, of Professor Lannae, he made himself an accom- 
plished French scholar. He has often told me how delighted 
he was when he was able to address letters to Louise in the 
French tongue ; that sometimes he would make mistakes in 
his orthography and accent, and that Louise would return his 
letters with all the errors corrected, his mistakes all pointed 
out to him, in order, as she said, to make him ‘ do right the 
next time* Things went on in this way for some years. Louise 
was then twenty-three years of age. Dr. Finlay was twenty- 
one. His lady-love was his senior by two years. Her mental 
superiority, her natural activity and sprightliness, tempered 
with all the amiability, patience, and philosophy, that mortal 
ever possessed, rendered her a charming, interesting, and love- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


75 


able object, not only to Dr. Finlay, but to all with whom she 
became acquainted. Her aunt, who, it seems, had been in- 
trusted with her at the age of fourteen years, had, at that 
tender period, implanted within her heart a tact to conceal her 
passions and emotions, and had also indoctrinated the principles 
of self-control. Dr. Finlay has often told me that she managed 
him so adroitly, that her caution and reserve sometimes threw 
him into suspense and uneasiness. Still, he never feared a 
rival; for the interesting and philosophic Louise had natu- 
ralized herself to the practice of forming but few associates. 
The Doctor says he contented himself with the belief that Tie 
was her 1 chosen lord/ — he believed that Louise loved him, — 
that she would marry him, — that she was inwardly anxious to 
marry him, — and that her greatest desideratum was for him to 
name the subject of matrimony to herself. He says that, in 
spite of her philosophical efforts to avoid betraying herself, 
he could trace the impressions of Cupid in her modest little 
billets, and that she wore the fragrant blossoms of his bouquets 
in her bosom till they faded, and then they were carefully 
pressed, and placed in her anthology of flowers and leaves. 
He says her voice used to tremble when she sung for him ; and 
with this little stock of evidence against the heart of this noble 
woman, Dr. Finlay rendered a verdict of ‘ Guilty / After the 
Doctor completed his course at college, he applied himself to 
the study of medicine. He says he was not fond of the law, 
notwithstanding the labor and expense he had lavished to 
accomplish himself in that great science. He had an 
aged relative, on the side of his mother, who was wealthy. 
This old gentleman now resides at Manville Hall, whither 
you are going : he is Dr. Finlay’s uncle, and is called Parson 
Macdonald. He sent for Walter Finlay to come to Manville 
Hall, and study medicine in company with Arthur, the son of 
old Mr. Charles Manville. The Doctor was at first perplexed 
at this request, as the city wherein he had received both his 
academic and professional education was also hallowed by the 


76 


LOUISE ELTON; 


presence of Louise Banthier, who had been his companion, his 
friend, and counsellor. He thought it would be too unphiloso- 
phical to weep ; but he says he stood under the cedar tree near 
her parlor, and embalmed within his bosom her tender friend- 
ship, her generosity, and her good-humored jests, and that he 
breathed a fervent prayer that the deep and strong affection, 
which he hoped she cherished for himself, might last as long 
as she lived; for he promised himself that he would return to 
the city, and when he left it the second time, that Louise would 
go with him as his wife. The morning, at length, arrived, 
when he was to bid her adieu. He repaired to the residence 
of her aunt, Madame Revierre, where he found Louise com- 
posed, and even more cheerful than he desired her to be. She 
managed to sustain her complacency and self-composure so 
skilfully, that the Doctor could see nothing to characterize the 
parting of himself from her but the seeming unstudied candor 
with which Louise gave him her hand. The Doctor says that 
fortitude almost left him; that he came very near shedding tears ; 
but that Louise’s firmness and philosophy triumphed even in 
the moment when he kissed her hand, and pressed it to his 
palpitating heart. There is an ancient and very extensive 
library at Manville Hall, and after Dr. Finlay reached that 
secluded place, he buried himself within its shades with Arthur 
Manville, and read all the valuable works on physic. They 
were two very close students, and he became, what he had 
always been told he would be, a confirmed bibliomaniac. He 
has remarked to me that Arthur Manville and himself used to 
read all day, and often till Aurora would raise the dark cur- 
tains of night, and the piercing beams of the sun illumine the 
old studio at Manville Hall. All the mental respite he took was 
in pondering upon the warm friendship, the sprightly conver- 
sation, the instructive lessons he had enjoyed with Louise; and 
he sometimes spoke to Arthur of her intelligence, modesty, and 
her unpractised ingenuousness. One day, Arthur Manville 
advised Dr. Finlay to address a letter to Louise. He did so, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 77 

requesting her to respond immediately. Louise complied, and 
they corresponded for six months. Every line written by her, 
however, was guarded with prudence and discretion, and her 
letters evinced a mind well fortified against the adversities and 
sorrows of life. She waited for Dr. Finlay to declare his 
passion first; but Walter was slow, and too indifferent. He 
was a student and a scholar ; he loved a great room filled with 
books, maps, and globes; he loved philosophy, rhetoric, and 
mathematics, and thought more of the experiments he daily 
performed with his chemical apparatus than that affectionate 
heart at a distance, which secretly yearned for his return to 
the haunts of his pupilage. He loved Louise; but just came 
to the conclusion that he could marry her at any time, and de- 
termined not to hurry himself. He had been wedded, too, so 
long to his books that he began to conclude that worldly at- 
tachments, especially to women, were unphilosophical, and of 
too little importance to be formed by a man who intended to 
make study the business of his life. He accustomed himself 
to think and act in this way from his earlier years, and 
spent much time in contemplating the maxims of great and 
good men, and in perusing volume after volume, and in the 
practice of his profession, to which he seems devoted. The 
correspondence between Louise and himself continued, as I 
said, about six months ; the Doctor promising Arthur Manville, 
at the reception of every letter, that in his reply he would pro- 
pose to Louise to become his wife ; and every letter she received 
from Walter brought a renewed hope that the long-wished-for 
proposal was written on the page which she tremblingly glanced 
at, as she tore the seal from the 1 rose-scented ’ missive. Those 
cold, Platonic, unaffectionate epistles pained her heart, and 
spite of all her self-command, she would burst into tears, and 
beg that Providence would interpose and give her strength 
of mind to emancipate herself from the unfortunate attach- 
ment she had formed for Walter Finlay. 1 Another month 
glided through the night of time/ and when Dr. Finlay 

7 * 


78 


LOUISE ELTON; 


received the last letter, except one, that ever came to him 
from the hand of Louise, she insisted so strongly that he would 
visit her, he determined, at once, to go. When he arrived at 
Madame Revierre's, he discovered that Louise was saddened. 
Disappointment was plainly marked on her once sprightly, hand- 
some face. The Doctor, at again meeting her, so interesting 
under the influence of a little sorrow, felt the second pang that 
then had ever run through his heart. He remained in the city 
a whole month, visited Louise every day, but made no avowal 
of love to her. She still waited, with her usual patience and 
modesty, and kept the lamp of Love burning upon the shrine 
of Hope. She could not resort to stratagem to force Dr. Fin- 
lay to a matrimonial proposal, for she knew not what to say ; 
she had too pure and honest a heart to practise chicanery; and 
at the close of the month, Dr. Finlay returned to Manville 
Hall, without having alluded to love or marriage during his 
stay so near to the woman who was almost dying in love with 
him. As the day was nearly gone, in about three weeks after 
the Doctor was reincarcerated within the walls of old Manville 
Hall, a servant returned from the neighboring town with a letter 
containing the following lines : 

“ ‘ History informs me, that in olden times the Carthaginians 
were an ambitious, brave people. At the height of their re- 
nown and greatest strength, they became a formidable enemy 
of the Romans. Hannibal, their general, crossed the Medi- 
terranean Sea, landed in Spain, and forced his way, with his vast 
army, to the lofty, rocky Alps. He crossed these “ stupendous 
boundaries of nations/' and defeated the Romans at Cannse. 
He tore the Roman army to pieces, and then had it in his 
power to improve his conquest, by taking possession of the 
“ Eternal City ;” but he, with his army, lay down to luxuriate 
under the cool shades of the olive trees, in the bowery 
dells of Italia, and became intoxicated with the beauty of 
the scenery, the lofty snow-topped mountains, the warm, soft 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 79 

gales of the valley, and the sweet, languishing strains of music 
from the lute of the plebeian girl, and also with the delicate 
flowers and crystal rocks in the mountain grotto. These 
things so completely charmed the indolent Carthaginians, that 
they idled their time away, and soon beheld, to their great 
fear and astonishment, the clouds of Romans soldiers that 
darkened the morning’s rosy face. How many, alas ! refuse 
to improve a victory when it is in their power.’ 

11 There was no name affixed to the singular piece of compo- 
sition, and he thought it a quiz from some of the girls of the 
neighbourhood. He was at tea when the servant handed it to 
him, and after reading the story of Hannibal, he soon forgot it, 
and left it lying on the floor of the supper-room. Presently, 
Miss Lavinia Manville, the niece of Hr. Finlay, who was 
spending some time at Manville Hall, came into the room, 
and took the letter from the carpet. Seeing it addressed to 
her uncle Walter, and the name of ‘ Louise ’ written on the 
corner of the last page, she carried it to the library, and 
playfully remarked, ‘ Uncle Walter, you must be a very 
devoted lover to throw your dear Louise’s letter under the 
tea-table ?’ — The Doctor started, and remarked : ‘ You are 
mistaken, my lovely Lavinia ; that is some anonymous affair 
got up by you girls of the Hall to hoax your “ uncle Doctor.” 
That is very unlike the hand of my darling Louise, your 
future aunt; — will you call her aunt?’ said the Doctor, as 
Lavinia held the letter to the lamp. — ‘I will, indeed, dear 
uncle, but I suppose that you would tell me to call her Louise, 
as you love to hear the name. You declare often that you 
cannot hear it enough. Do you not recollect the other day 
that you told me you frequently wish that my name was 
Louise instead of Lavinia?’ — ‘Oh, yes,’ said the Doctor; ‘but 
leave that anonymous quiz there ; perhaps I will look over it 
before I retire.’ — Lavinia left the library to join her sister 
and cousin, and retired to bed, as usual, at about nine o’clock. 


80 


LOUISE ELTON; 


At half after eleven, such a noise as was never before heard 
at Manville Hall, broke the silence of the night. Something 
seemed to fall, below stairs, as if one side of the old mansion 
was tearing away, and the sound appeared to come from the 
library. Every member of the household arose, and the 
girls ran down to ask the cause of this unusual and fright- 
ful noise in the old Hall. The library door was pushed open, 
and there lay Dr. Finlay stretched on an old settee, groan- 
ing, and the perspiration standing in large globules all 
over his face. ‘What’s the matter, Walter?’ said Arthur 
Manville, who reached him first. — ‘ Oh, Arthur, I am ruined ! 
I am ruined ! Oh me ! poor wretched fool that I am ; 
take that pistol, and blow my brains out !’ — ‘ Walter,’ said 
the astonished Arthur, ‘are you drunk, or crazy? what is 
the matter with you?’ — ‘I’m ruined!’ said the Doctor; ‘I’m 
ruined!’ — ‘Are you, indeed,’ rejoined Arthur; ‘weir so is 
the chemical apparatus; and, bless me, he has thrown the 
crucible at the large old mirror, and broken it into millions of 
fragments. Why, Wat,’ continued Arthur, ‘I never have sus- 
pected you of lunacy, or that you kept liquor hidden in Man- 
ville Hall.’ — ‘ I am neither drunk nor crazy, Arthur ; but I am 
ruined ! I’m a ruined man !’ said Dr. Finlay, vehemently. — 
‘Well, what has ruined you so suddenly, and at such a late 
hour of the night ? When I retired, you were composed, and 
reading the “ Discours sur V Histoire Universette,” by the Bishop 

of Meaux.’ — ‘ D the Bishop of Meaux ! when a man 

learns that the only woman he can ever love is married !’ said 
Dr. Finlay; and then turning to the girls, who were viewing 
in astonishment the damage their uncle had done the chemical 
apparatus, as well as the antique mirror which hung in Man- 
ville Hall long before they were born, he said, petulantly, 
‘ Gro to bed, girls ; what, in the name of common sense, did 
you come into the library for anyhow !’ They ran off above 
stairs, laughing at the droll figure their uncle cut ; for as they en- 
tered the library, the Doctor was greatly agonized, and kept say- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


81 


ing, 1 0, poor, miserable, unhappy me ! poor, unfortunate, d d 

fool that I am ! blow my brains out, Arthur ! blow my brains out, 
if you please V and Arthur, to plague him, was remarking all 
the time, in a loud tone of voice, ‘ Walter, you have got no 
brains. I used to think you had some ; but I was mistaken. 
You are either drunk or crazy, I am satisfied/ — After the girls 
had left them, however, Dr. Finlay said to Arthur, ‘ Come 
here ; take this document and read it, and let me groan on. I 
deserve it all ; and Fm ruined ! I’m ruined ! 0, Arthur, I am 

a fool, and a ruined man V — ‘Not a very enviable character/ 
jestingly continued Arthur; ‘but silence, Walter, and let me 
read what you have handed me/ Arthur Manville perused 
the little Carthaginian allegory, and then commenced reading 
a letter, of which the following is a true copy : 

“ ‘ I had prepared a letter to hand you, when you visited me 
the last time. The last time ! O, Walter, what a mournful 
sound ! I could not hand it to you ; for when I saw you, and 
heard your voice, hope revived within my sad heart. You left 
me more sorrowful than I had ever been. I have been in- 
formed that you object to me because I am not a native-born 
American. I do not believe it; for you used to praise bright, 
sunny France, and tell me that you loved my nation very much. 
My mother was a native of your country, and I am only half 
French. Can you object to me because I was born on that classic 
soil? Do you recollect the warm tears you shed, and the 
tender expressions of sympathy you uttered, when I related 
to you, under the lofty old trees in my aunt’s park, the sad 
story of my ancestors ? When I told you I had trod the ground 
where my grandparents were murdered by the Jacobins, 
and you sighed and groaned ? When you told me that 
nothing was wanting in France to establish the happiness and 
prosperity of the nation, but a strong link to connect the morals 
and the politics of the people together? You reminded me 
that “ the spirit of patriotism and a general corruption of man- 
ners, cannot possibly be co-existent in the same age and nation/' 


82 


LOUISE ELTON; 


You eulogized me, Walter, and said, u I would to God that 
bloody France had women like yourself, Louise, all over her 
territory, to proclaim to them that they abuse the term, 
liberty ; that this hallowed word has been shamefully used in 
all the countries of Europe, save Great Britain and Switzerland, 
and that neither of these countries yet compare with infant 
America. How delighted I should be to see you wield your 
graphic pen, Louise, in admonition to the nation you so ardently 
love. You have experienced the difference, Louise. Could 
you not tell them that all Europe is in a corrupted state, 
so far as liberty is concerned ; that history proves that the most 
profligate of the country are the most clamorous for freedom, 
and that with such persons as these, the meaning of liberty has 
no relation to patriotism ; that there it means no more than 
the general aversion to restraint ” I listened to you, Walter. 
I would not controvert a word you spoke ; for I believe you are 
correct. Still, I did not think your prejudices could carry you 
so far as to induce you to object to me because I came from 
France. 0, how often, and foolishly too, have I wished myself 
a fair, rosy-cheeked American woman ; then, perhaps, you 
could have loved me. Your girls are truly beautiful, modest, 
and interesting ; but their hearts are no warmer than my own. 
I hope, however, that I have been incorrectly informed as re- 
gards your objection to me because my father was a Frenchman. 
Long have I desired, I confess, to hear you say that you loved 
me. I have fondly believed, too, that you would make this 
declaration to me ; but, alas ! how have I been deceived ! I 
have desired to love you, Walter, as I ought to have loved 
you. I mean legally. I have wished that one house could 
have been our home, where I could consult you, and where you 
could have interested me. I have wished that you might be 
my future guide, my counsellor, my friend, and my husband. 
You have, notwithstanding, been Walter the inflexible. You 
are cold-hearted, calculating, and philosophical. However, 
you have won me without wishing me. I know you have 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 83 

made no effort to gain my heart. I have loved you though 
for your own intrinsic beauty. I have to-day gathered all the 
precious fragments of billets, &c., which you used to give 
me; and while I sit here perusing the little notes you once 
wrote me, particularly when I was your school-mistress, my 
eyes fall upon one billet which I am sure you also recollect. 
Have you forgotten one afternoon when Monsieur Augereau 
came to see me, and you had just remarked, ‘ Louise, I have 
something in my heart that I wish to pour out this afternoon V 
You were greatly perplexed at Monsieur Augereau’s remain- 
ing so long ; you said he was in your way. I discovered that 
you were vexed with him ; then I whispered this into your ear, 
u Walter, go into the office, and write to me; but do not take 
your lexicon nor your reference memorandum-book. It will be 
one of my happiest moments to peruse a little billet from my 
pupil, written in the French language too, more especially 
when I know you have improved so rapidly that you can write 
to me in my own beautiful idiom without your dictionary. I 
see that you are tired of Monsieur Augereau, and so am I.” 
Please read the following note, Walter. I have translated it, 
and as I was writing it I wondered if you could have been so 
cruel as to crush my heart just because you loved to see it 
bleed. 

“ My dear Louise : — 

“ You are an Ariadne, though not the daughter of a Minos, 
for according to heathen fable, Minos ruled the infernal regions, 
but you must have come from the abode of celestial spirits. I 
am a kind of Theseus, and you are my literary Ariadne, for 
you gave me a clue of thread which guided me out of the 
French labyrinth. I have held on to the thread till I have 
come out of the cavern, I see a bright sun now gleam upon my 
page. You say I am a good French scholar. I believe you, 
Louise, for you are one of the pillars in the Temple of Truth. 


84 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


Will you believe me when I tell you that I wish heartily for 
the departure of old Augereau. 

“ Ever and ever, your friend, 

“ Walter Finlay.” 

“ ‘ My dear sir do not be surprised when I tell you that I 
have nearly carried out the character of Ariadne. Do you not 
recollect how fable says, she withered under the coldness of 
Theseus, and married some old heathen king ? I know you re- 
collect all about Ariadne. Very well; you have wounded my 
heart by neglect. I am a married woman, Walter ! I have mar- 
ried Mons. Augereau ! Do you not know that a woman seeks 
protection, especially when she is a poor orphan like Louise. I did 
I confess, wish that you had been in place of Mons. Augereau, 
as I have loved you more tenderly than I can ever love again. 
You are so philosophically resigned that I shall now bid you 
farewell, and try to forget you very soon. May you always soar 
above the elements of passion, and may your closet musings 
continue to interest you. A requiem to those halcyon days 
through which we have lived, begins and ends with the sad, 
sad word farewell/ 

After Arthur Manville concluded the epistle, he went to Dr. 
Finlay to condole with him. The Doctor told him that he 
never was so astonished, and never felt so furiously angry 
in his life; that in the paroxysm of rage he seized a large 
earthen crucible and flung it at the old mirror, because when he 
arose from his chair there was the hateful form and face of him- 
self reflected, telling him what a fool he had been, and that as he 
started to leave the room he upset the centre-table, whereon 
were jars, bottles, tubes, and all manner of things belonging 
to a chemist’s apparatus. He remarked to Arthur that he was 
deeply mortified at his folly, and begged pardon for having dis- 
turbed the family, especially old Mr. Manville, who had by this 
time come from his chamber, and stood holding a lamp in his 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 85 

hand, surveying in astonishment the many fragments that lay 
all over the floor of the library. Dr. Finlay says, he told Ar- 
thur Manville at that moment that he had always loved Louise, 
that he intended to marry her ; that no other woman could ever 
engage his affections as Louise had done, and that he was too 
slow, too indifferent, and that her union with Augereau would 
murder all that pertained to love or admiration in his bosom 
for ever. 1 Oh ! Louise ! Louise ! sweet, precious, hallowed 
name/ he ejaculated, 1 1 never can forget you. You have 
made an impression upon my heart that is too lasting to be blot- 
ted out, or expunged by the hand of age or time / — 1 Good 
for you, Wat/ said Arthur Manville, as he was gathering to- 
gether the fragments of glass on the floor. ‘ I always told you 
that Louise loved you truly ; still I feel sorry that you have toyed 
with your own happiness. Try and sleep some, old fellow ; 
Llewellyn and Wallace Pitkins are expected here to-mor- 
row / and after working.away with the glass for some time, 
Arthur Manville left the library, with a promise from Dr. Fin- 
lay that he would try to sleep, and break no more glass. I 
am under the impression/ ' continued Miss Morris, “ that Dr. 
Finlay will marry, notwithstanding the shock that Louise gave 
him, by announcing her marriage to Augereau. He says he 
could render a wife happy ; and you have discovered, Miss 
Elton, that he has a strong mind, and his mental acquirements en- 
title him to 1 soar on the wings of an eagle he is amiable and 
reasonable, and I have believed for some time, that there is within 
his heart a secret fountain, whence the stream of pure love would 
flow, if a woman of the right kind attempted to search for its 
source. The Doctor, with all his natural talents and learning, 
is one of the most timid men I ever saw ; he is a true imper- 
sonation of diffidence ; he always intended to address Louise 
Banthier, but put it off with the belief that she would remain 
single her lifetime, rather than marry any one but himself, 
and he, about half the time waited for her to tell him that she 
loved him and wished to marry him/' — “ Well,” said I, after 

8 


80 


LOUISE ELTON; 


listening attentively to Miss Morris, “ you seem to think that 
there is still a fountain pent up in his heart, and it is a foun- 
tain of love ; have you never attempted to discover the charm 
which the Oriental bird is said to possess ? Do you not recol- 
lect that the poets sing of a bird of the land of i Iran/ that 
has the power of discovering fountains hidden in the earth V 9 
“ Oh ! no, Miss Elton, I never have; still I have said frequently, 
that I believe Dr. Finlay will marry. You must not call me 
vain, Miss Louise, when I tell you that I believe, at one time, 
and I had grounds for my belief too, that I could have married 
the Doctor myself, notwithstanding my name is not Louise. I 
have heard him declare many a time, that he was dying for an 
object upon whom he could lavish his affection. I remarked to 
him, one day when he was telling me of his former love for 
Louise Banthier, 1 Doctor, I thought you could not love ; that 
such a thing as affection for any woman, aside from your rela- 
tions, was not to be found in your heart/ 

“ He replied, ‘ Miss Anna, sometimes I think myself mistaken, 
particularly when I recollect that I used to believe that human 
nature has not the power to effect a total alienation of the 
heart from many of the ordinary affairs of life, especially love 
and matrimony. I often wonder, however, if there is still that 
deep clear fountain of the waters of love pent up in my heart, 
which used to send forth such a sly, but lucid stream, in the 
days of Louise Banthier. I have read that subterranean reser- 
voirs many a time burst forth, and then cease to flow from some 
obstruction of their current ; but the pools are full, and only 
wait for the drift to be cleared away, when they again gush 
out. I suppose this may be the case with my heart ; for I often 
am inclined to believe that the basin of love, which was filled 
by the hand of nature, is still full, and its waters might pour 
out could I only get that load of anguish cleared away from 
the conduit, which drifted there when I read of the marriage 
of my Louise/ Thus, have I often heard Dr. Finlay talk ; 
but as I have never loved him, of course I have at no time en- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


87 


deavored to win his affection, or to induce him to address me. 
I have pitied him, and sympathized with him in his loneliness, 
and whenever he has spoken to me of his youthful delay and 
indiscretion, which has occasioned him so many miserable 
hours. He is still a student and a philosopher; but when he 
comes to the more sober realities of reflection, I have seen him 
forget his books, and say that he was unsettled as to what he 
would do. Human nature will fail at times : none of the 
philosophers have ever found an antidote against those moments 
of sadness to which we are all more or less subject.” — “ I have 
a question,” said I, “to ask you, Miss Morris, to which I 
trust you will respond. I think very strangely of Hr. Finlay 
for remaining at this place, where there is a stepmother over 
the children of his sister, who treats them so cruelly. Hoes 
he not abhor her conduct ? and has he never spoken to Colonel 
Manville about it?” — “Hr. Finlay,” replied Miss Morris, “is 
naturally a taciturn, peaceable man. Colonel Manville’ s 
daughters have complained to him often of the bad treatment 
they have received from their stepmother ; but the warmest in- 
timacy has for years existed between Colonel Manville and Hr. 
Finlay, and notwithstanding the cruel and harsh treatment of 
Mrs. Manville to the girls, Colonel Manville loves her very 
devotedly, and is extremely anxious to live peaceably with her. 
She is one of the finest managers I ever saw. I think she is 
too fretful with the servants though, and is often very severe ; 
but about the management of her household matters, her gar- 
den, dairy, the scissors, needle, loom, and spinning-wheels, she 
is a capital hand. She never does a stitch of work herself ; but 
she knows how work ought to be done. She has also gained 
the greatest victory that mortal woman ever gains over the 
opposite sex, and it is this : she has the absolute control 
of her husband’s mind and heart. She studies how she may 
deceive him : she knows precisely when to greet him with a 
smile, when to appear silent and unhappy, and when to call 
forth his tender sympathy by shedding sorrowful tears. She 


88 


LOUISE ELTONj 


can draw from him a warm eulogy upon the management of 
her domestic affairs by telling him of the work the servants 
have done ; she can force him to smile the smile of gratification, 
when she tells him how fast his children are improving under 
her motherly supervision ; then, if she chooses, she can frighten 
him almost out of his senses, by falling with a spasm, scream- 
ing, and declaring that her nerves are ruined, and that she is 
going to die. Sometimes I have thought that Colonel Manville 
is afraid of her, or afraid to offend her. She has discovered 
that he has tried hard to please her, and she is ungrateful 
enough to take advantage of his kindness, and plays the tyrant 
successfully over husband, children, and servants. I have 
seen many a woman like Mrs. Manville. A man may talk to 
some women till he wears his tongue out, and his purse too, in 
humoring and spoiling them, and still they are not satisfied. 
The more that is done for such unreasonable beings, the more 
is required. Dr. Finlay seems to know but little of the dispo- 
sition of the two little girls, Lizette and Ada; for Mrs. Man- 
ville has induced him to believe that they are bad-tempered and 
disobedient. Misses Emily and Lavinia Manville disliked their 
stepmother so much that they would not reside here : they 
made Manville Hall their home ; and Miss Julia Manville, the 
third daughter, told Dr. Finlay once, in my hearing, that as 
Emily and Lavinia had left Green Haven on account of her 
pa’s wife, she intended to stand her ground, that she had 
been told she had more temper and spirit than all the others; 
that she would never leave her father’s house, but stay 
there to quarrel and fight her stepmother, for Kate, Lizette, 
and Ada. Mrs. Manville declares that it is the fault of the 
girls, and not of herself. And as Emily and Lavinia left here, 
and Julia said what she thought, no doubt, to her uncle, some- 
times, I think that Dr. Finlay believes that the girls have 
been to blame. They are of Scotch extraction; and I have 
often heard Colonel Manville remark, that <his countrymen 
might get whipped, but they would never be conquered.’ Per- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


89 


haps his children inherit that principle ; hut, as they were mostly 
daughters, he did not happen to think his remark applicable to 
them. The old lady is entirely too well practised in duplicity 
to allow Colonel Manville or Dr. Finlay to surprise her in her 
fits of anger with the children. If they ever discover that there 
has been a jar, she, of course, has the privilege of explaining 
first. Then she tells them that the children ‘ are refractory and 
unmanageable/ and argues that her responsibility is so very 
arduous ; that she is doing all she can for the children, and that 
her health is so delicate; that when night comes on, or the 
morning dawns, she makes Lizette and Ada get down upon their 
knees, and repeat verses by heart from the Bible and hymn- 
book ; and that she is very particular about their saying the Lord's 
Prayer. In this way she worries herself and the children too, 
without doing the least good. I have often thought with Ma- 
dame de Stael, 1 that it is very strange that a woman, who is 
called sensible, can for a moment imagine that she is doing her 
duty to her fellow-beings, and serving God, by tormenting his 
creatures, and rendering everybody miserable about her; — 'tis 
strange, — ay, 'tis an inexplicable mystery.' " — “ Tell me, Miss 
Morris," said I, “ was Miss J ulia unamiable ?" — “ No, Miss 
Elton, I never thought J ulia unamiable. She was remarkably 
quick-tempered ; but she disliked the name of a stepmother, 
and the grown daughters were very indignant at the Colonel 
for marrying so soon after the death of their mother. He only 
lived a widower six months; and Julia, much more than either 
of the others, seemed to take delight in fretting her stepmother. 
If you feel disposed to listen, I will tell you the histories of 
Julia, Lavinia, and Emily. You recollect I promised to begin 
with the history of the girls after I finished the story of Dr. 
Finlay. Julia's history seems to come first, although she was 
the last of the girls who have died." 

As I had already become so much interested in the family 
history, I requested Miss Morris to proceed, and tell me about 
the three grown daughters, especially, for, as I traversed the 

8 * 


90 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


library, I saw so many reminiscences of them, that I concluded 
they must have been girls of genius, and also elegant women. 
I was assisting Miss Morris in sewing her wedding garments, 
and as I was pretty well assured that Alva was on a courting, 
as well as a collecting expedition, and knowing the uncertainty 
of women and paper money, I satisfied myself by going to work, 
and listening to the history of one of the most interesting fami- 
lies I had ever heard of. I begged Miss Morris to proceed, and 
to tell me about all who were buried in the garden. I had 
seen their sleeping-place, had read their names on the granite 
column, and I wished to hear more about them. Miss Morris 
consented ; and here, reader, is the history of the spirited and 
noble Julia Manville. 


CHAPTER XI. 

STORY OF JULIA. 

“ Shortly after I came here as governess, Miss Julia Man- 
ville returned from the convent, where she had completed her 
education. She was remarkably fond of books, and used to assist 
me very often in marking off the lessons for the children. I then 
had to instruct Laura Haddington, Mrs. Manville’s eldest 
daughter, her son, Theodore Hanetson, and her youngest daugh- 
ter, Augusta Hanetson. You are aware that Mrs. Manville has 
been thrice married. I had, also, Kate, Lizette, and Ada Man- 
ville. Julia was about sixteen years of age when she came 
home. I have told you that she despised her stepmother, and 
was the only one of the grown girls whom the old lady could 
not subdue. Emily and Lavinia always gave up to her in 
everything. They were too amiable and gentle to dispute with 
her; and as disputes were inevitable, they chose rather to 
leave Green Haven and reside at Manville Hall, with their 
kind old Uncle Charles. It was customary every morning, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 91 

after breakfast, for Mrs. Manville to assemble with the chil- 
dren in the library, for the purpose of hearing them repeat 
Bible lessons. One morning, she was provoked at Kate for not 
knowing her verses. Kate got frightened, and cried, so that 
she could not say her lesson at all. I saw what was the matter, 
and requested Mrs. Manville to allow me to finish with Kate. 
She positively refused ; declaring that she was acting from pure 
contrariness, and that she would whip her if she refused to 
proceed. By that time, Kate had become so much confused 
she could not speak, whereupon Mrs. Manville took a cowhide, 
which she was in the habit of bringing with her into the library, 
and gave Kate a most unmerciful flogging. Julia and Colonel 
Manville had rode over to see Edwin, Colonel Manville’s 
youngest child, who was then being nursed by a Mrs. Martin. 
When Julia and the Colonel returned, I had the children in 
the school-room, and all was quiet. When they were dismissed 
to go to dinner, and we all were entering the dining-room, I 
saw Julia’s keen black eyes dart fury-glances at me. She 
thought that I had been beating Kate, or scolding her so vio- 
lently that the poor thing was cowed. Julia was very quick, 
and she immediately demanded of Kate the cause of her swollen 
eyes and downcast countenance. I was greatly relieved when 
Kate said, 1 Sister, ma whipped me this morning, in the library, 
with the cowhide.’ No sooner said, than Julia seized a cut- 
glass tumbler, and threw it at Mrs. Manville’s head, but missed 
it ; then she threw a knife at her, which did not touch her either ; 
and she was going to upset the large bowl of hot soup, in order 
to make the most of it spill on Mrs. Manville’s lap; but, for- 
tunately for her, Dr. Finlay caught hold of Julia, and led her 
from the room. Mrs. Manville went into spasms. Colonel Man- 
ville had a long talk with J ulia, Kate, Lizette, and Ada, pri- 
vately, and things went on tolerably well till the next summer. 
Mrs. Manville continued to come to the library every morning, 
when she thought herself well enough, and hear the Bible les- 
sons. As Kate was so much afraid of her, Colonel Manville 


92 


LOUISE ELTON; 


had told Julia to go into the library herself, but to keep cool, 
and summon forbearance to her aid ; that the presence of an 
elder sister, would give the younger ones more confidence, and 
perhaps make things better. Julia, in spite of all I could say 
to her, would select and repeat, at every lesson, a certain pas- 
sage, which, I could see, sent something like a keen arrow to 
the heart of Mrs. Manville. I have noticed the old lady writhe 
and smart under Julia’s biblical lashing. Julia observed that 
her plan had the desired effect, and then she would pour out 
another vial of reproof. The old lady’s conscience I often 
thought fireproof; for she stood it a great while. She did not 
like to offend Julia, if it was to be avoided. She knew that 
she was full of resentment ; but still, she could not bear the 
idea of being outdone by one of the ‘ Manvilles,’ as she indig- 
nantly used to call the daughters of the Colonel. Julia was at 
the head of the class, and always took it upon her to commence 
the lesson where she pleased, and contrary to what Mrs. Man- 
ville wished ; she would also repeat a certain set of verses at 
the close. 

“I can in my imagination now hear Julia, with her strong 
clear voice, reading the third verse of the thirteenth chapter of St. 
Matthew : ‘ And he spake many things unto them in parables, 
saying, Behold a sower went forth to sow. And when he sowed, 
some seeds fell by the wayside, and the fowls came and de- 
voured them up. Some fell upon stony places where they had 
not much earth, and forthwith they sprung up, because they 
had no deepness of earth.’ She invariably closed the lesson by 
reading these lines: ‘But woe unto you, Scribes, Pharisees, 
and hypocrites ! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against 
men : for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye°them 
that are entering to go in. Woe unto you, Scribes, Pharisees, 
and hypocrites ! for ye devour widowers’ houses, and for a 
pretence make long prayers; therefore ye shall receive the 
greater damnation. Woe unto you, Scribes, Pharisees, and 
hypocrites ! ye are like unto whitened sepulchres, which indeed 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


93 


appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's 
bones and all corruption.' Instead of reading the word ‘ widows/ 
when she ought to have done so, she would say, and emphasize 
it, 1 for ye devour widowers’ houses.' The old lady per- 
fectly understood J ulia's severe rebuke. She bore it for some 
time. One morning Julia read as usual the thirteenth chapter 
of Matthew, and closed the lesson with the Scribes, Pharisees, 
and hypocrites. Mrs. Manville was very nervous that morn- 
ing, and she had seemed fretful all the time. She kept lectur- 
ing the children, scolded a good deal, and was evidently not in 
a good humor. When Julia was about half done, Mrs. Manville 
grew stormy. She dashed her Bible on the floor, and cried out, 
‘ J ulia Manville, stop this instant, you impertinent wretch. 
What do you mean, I say, Julia Manville ?' continued she, 
screaming and in a fit of passion. ‘ What do you mean by 
reading and repeating the same verses in the Testament every 
morning?' — ‘I mean,' said Julia, with the most perfect non- 
chalance and composure, 1 this I read and repeat them because 
they are my greatest favorites.' — ‘ You tell a falsehood, Miss ! 
you have another motive in it; and if you ever repeat or read 
them in my presence again, I will make your father chastise 
you severely for doing so, or I will do it myself.' — 1 1 wish you 
would attempt it, Madam,' replied Julia; ‘just lay the weight 
of your hands on me, if you dare, either playfully or passion- 
ately ; you should not touch me if you were in a good humor, 
and if you do it in anger I will try and scratch your eyes out ; 
I am not afraid of you at all. I know you have married pa ; 
and if you were not such a heartless tyrant, you might perhaps 
fill the office of stepmother ; I should then respect you as such ; 
but you go all over the house, yard, and garden, armed with 
your cowhide, preaching religion at every corner. You have 
treated the servants whom my mother left in her nursery, and 
on the farm, with the greatest cruelty. Your boisterous lan- 
guage, and your unkind behavior has driven my elder sisters, 
who are sickly, from their paternal roof. You have acted the 


94 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


part of the spider in the fable, which wove the web over the fly, 
towards pa ; he has humored you, and Reen beguiled by your 
hypocritical stories, till you have woven a web over him com- 
pletely ; he has been blinded by your deception ; you have put 
out . the eyes of his judgment, and now he is groping about his own 
domain, as it were in Tartarean darkness ; you are his guide ; 
you lead him whithersoever your whims direct you ; you have 
lulled him to sleep as Dalilah lulled old Samson ; you have 
shaven off the seven locks of his head ; you have afflicted him ; 
you have him now at the u Gaza of blindness ;” you have bound 
his reason in fetters of brass, and you grind his children and 
servants in their own home, once dear to them, but which by 
yourself is converted into a prison/ Mrs. Manville was still, 
while Julia spoke, for I suppose no human being ever listened 
to such a severe, yet unpremeditated reprimand from a girl of 
scarcely seventeen years. I have heard clergymen in the 
pulpit lecture their flocks very severely, at times, but I never 
heard such an outburst of eloquent and severe reproach in my life- 
She at length started to leave the library, and as she passed 
along she shook her bony fist at Julia, and said, ‘ I will inform 
your father of your conduct to me, Miss, and if he refuses to 
chastise you, I will leave this place ; another sun shall not set 
without my being on the road to my own once quiet home/ — 
‘ That is just what I would like/ said Julia; ‘you ought to 
have had more prudence, anyhow, than to have married pa ; if 
he would address you, you ought to have advised him to wait 
till he erected a monument over mother, at any rate. You are 
a curious woman ; indeed I saw you aiding pa once, in planning 
a monument for my mother, and a cenotaph for my brother 
Waldegrave. I thought of the man of this neighborhood who 
lost his wife on one Sunday, the next Sunday he was married 
again, and on the third Sunday, he, with his new wife, attended 
his first wife’s funeral/ — ‘ Rest assured, Julia Manville, that 
my marriage with your father is the last that will ever take 
place between the two families ; I have heard that my son Dou- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


95 


glas Haddington was in love with you, and that, perhaps, you 
and he would be married ; hut I would rather see my boy put 
ten feet under the earth, than to see him marry such a hateful 
wretch as you are/ — 1 1 do not want your son, Madam ; I never 
thought of loving him ; I must say that so far as I am capable 
of judging, Mr. Haddington is a gentleman; he must certainly 
inherit the good qualities of his father, for you have none, alas ! 
and I can assure you that I would not like to marry any one 
who had ever heard of you, letting alone one so closely allied 
to yourself as Douglas Haddington/ — ‘ Never mind, Julia 
Manville/ continued the old lady, who had come hack into the 
library ; ‘ I will make you alter your course. Yes, I will make 
you treat me respectfully; you are a minor, recollect, and 
you dare not leave your father’s house without his permission/ 
1 1 have no idea of leaving/ said Julia; ‘you would have more 
latitude if I should leave here ; you have more than your share 
already. I treat everybody respectfully who treats me so. 
I regard the feelings of persons whose behavior merits respect : 
but remember your cruelty to these motherless children, and 
your inhuman treatment to our servants. Your own conduct 
is quite sufficient to render you an object of contempt. I know 
my duty to my father, Madam ; I will endeavor to obey him. 
I reverence and love him ; while I mourn over his weakness in 
marrying so soon after the death of our dearly beloved mother. 
We were happy together before you came here ; and I don’t care 
one cent what you tell pa. I never intend to allow you to im- 
pose on me, or these poor little sisters of mine, who tremble at 
the sound of your footstep.’ Mrs. Manville now left the 
library, slamming the door after her, and declaring that Colonel 
Manville should chastise Julia. When I went into the dining- 
room, on the same day, I found Julia at the table, laughing, 
and rallying her pa about some joke her ma used to tell him. 
I thought that I discovered in Mrs. Manville a relaxation of 
temper, from exhaustion no doubt. She had been so actively 
engaged during the morning, and Julia had withstood her with 


96 LOUISE ELTON; 

so much severity and decision, that she said but little while we 
were dining.” 

“ Tell me,” said I, to Miss Morris, “ if the violent dispute 
effected Julia’s purpose.” — “ Yes, Miss Elton; for I never 
heard Mrs. Manville speak a harsh word to Julia, nor to the 
younger girls, in the presence of Julia, so long as she lived; 
and Mrs. Manville never came into the library to hear a Bible 
lesson after the quarrel, and in a short time she sent her chil- 
dren to the city that she came from, to her mother, old Mrs. 
Chadmun .” — 11 What was the cause of the death of the spirited 
Julia?” I eagerly inquired. — “The bilious fever raged here 
during August and September of the year 18 — . Nineteen of 
Colonel Manville’s servants died of it. After awhile, it en- 
tered this fine mansion, and poor Julia was attacked the first 
one. She had fatigued herself a great deal attending to the 
servants who were ill. I think that there were about fifty sick 
negroes here at one time. Julia was a kind of house apothe- 
cary. She went through rain and sunshine. By day and 
night she was at the bedside of the suffering, fever-scorched 
African. She administered hundreds of doses of medicine 
with her own fair hands, and carried soup and boiled rice to 
them many a time, which she cooked herself. Everybody 
grew tired with sick-nursing. Julia held out a great while, 
and seemed to know better than any one else what to do. I 
used to go and assist her before I took the fever, and many a 
time the servants were delirious, but Julia could manage them. 
Sometimes she would assume a stern, angry look, and her 
decisive order would be instantly obeyed. Others she ma- 
naged by soft words; and often have I seen the tear of pity 
roll over her fine black eyes, when Dr. Finlay would assure 
her that such a one must die. Colonel Manville barely escaped 
death himself; and poor Julia died on the twenty-eighth day 
after she took her bed. — Now, I will tell you the history of 
Miss Lavinia Manville, who died on the Island of Cuba 
before the death of Julia. It seems as if I ought to have told 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


97 


the stories of Emily and Lavinia first, but we were conversing 
about Julia, and without thinking that she was younger than 
Emily and Lavinia, I commenced with her. Emily and 
Lavinia were two sweet women. Colonel Manville used to 
call Emily his judge, Lavinia his lawyer, Julia his soldier, 
Kate his private secretary, and Lizette and Ada his little 
ring-doves. I could not, however, altogether justify Miss 
Julia in the course she pursued towards Mrs. Manville. I 
often felt disposed to advise both parties, but again, I would 
conclude, that it was none of my business. It is not charac- 
teristic of my nation to meddle with other people’s business, 
consequently, I never presumed to advise; — neither spoke 
exculpatory of one, nor condemnatory of the other; but I 
believe that the haughty stepmother was to blame oftener than 
Colonel Manville’ s daughters. I never have met, either in 
England or America (agreeably to my judgment), a more 
interesting family of people. I could have resided in the same 
house with Julia a lifetime, and we would never have quar- 
relled. Douglas Haddington loved Julia, and I have heard 
that he said his mother did not do right at Green Haven, and 
that he once addressed Miss Julia, and assured her that he 
had not inherited a particle of her inflammable temper.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

STORY OF LAVINIA. 

“ I HAVE been told that a vein of consumption lurks in the 
Finlay family. Two of Colonel Manville’s daughters and his 
first wife have died of it. Emily and Lavinia had very fragile 
constitutions. I never will forget the evening before Lavinia 
started to Cuba. Miss Emily had stayed at Manville Hall. 
Lavinia had been brought thence by Dr. Finlay some time 
during the winter. She was ill when she came home, and 

9 


98 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


appeared anxious to travel. Dr. Finlay proposed to Colonel 
Manville to send her to Cuba, and to let Emily go too, and I 
heard him tell Colonel Manville that he had great fear about 
Emily’s health. Then I heard Dr. Finlay whisper to Colonel 
Manville, and tell him that Arthur Manville's trial was over; 
that the jury rendered a verdict of not guilty, without leaving 
the jury-box; that Arthur had married, and was in the 
South; but that Parson Macdonald, with Mr. and Mrs. Falkirk, 
and perhaps Llewellyn Percy and others, would stay with Mr. 
Manville; and he thought that the best plan would be for 
Colonel Manville to write to his brother Charles, and advise 
him to send Ivanora to Cuba with Lavinia and Emily. I was 
astonished to hear that Arthur Manville had had a trial. I 
never had heard a word of his being a criminal. I had heard 
that Mr. Manville’s son, Louis, was murdered very near to 
Manville Hall, but the family have always kept perfect silence 
relative to the matter. There is some mystery about this 
Ivanora too. She is Mr. Charles Manville’s granddaughter, 
and, notwithstanding there was the greatest intimacy between 
the Manville girls of Green Haven, and the Manville Hall 
family, still I never could get one of them to say much about 
her. I have heard a whisper, too, that some awful deeds have 
been done at Manville Hall. I do not wish to discourage you, 
Miss Elton. You are going there as a governess, and I hope 
you may find a pleasant home. There can be no better man 
than Mr. Charles Manville, and his old sisters, Mrs. Newland 
and Miss Matilda, are kind and lady-like. But now I will tell 
you about Lavinia. The afternoon before her departure for 
Cuba, I was sitting in the office with herself, Julia, Kate, Lizette, 
and Ada. Lavinia was lying on that old lounge in the office, 
which is covered with green damask, when Colonel Manville 
entered the room. ‘ Well, my daughter/ said he to Lavinia, 
‘ do you feel strong enough to leave home to-morrow V 1 Yes, 
pa, if I am as well to-morrow morning as I have been to-day, 
I can start. I think it best to go as soon as possible, for the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


99 


confusion and noise of these workmen will kill me. I hope 
all the fine buildings will be completed before I return/ — 
‘Well, my darling, the daily prayer of your father is, that 
you all may reach Cuba safely, and that its healthful air may 
restore you. It is impossible for me to accompany you, but 
your Uncle Walter is going, and I intend to send Emily also. 
I have written to Brother Charles to let Ivanora come with 
Emily, and go too. I expect he will do so, and you will have 
good company. I hope that your outfit, in the way of apparel, 
is as you wish it. I shall put money into the hands of your 
Uncle Walter, and you must call on him for any and every- 
thing you may want in this world that money will procure/ — 
4 1 am very frail, pa/ said Lavinia ; and she commenced weep- 
ing, and said, 4 sometimes, I think, I am never to see you 
again, after I leave you to go to Cuba. I told Kate to-day, 
that I was half sustained by excited anticipation, especially 
when I recollect the favorable accounts I have had of the air 
of Cuba, for those who have a cough. Ivanora says that her 
friend, Miss Hollins, has returned from Cuba entirely restored. 
I wonder that they do not arrive. I have been looking for 
Uncle Doctor all the afternoon/ 4 Have patience, dear/ said 
her father, 4 they may get here about dark. I suppose they 
are already packed for the journey, and even if they make it 
late getting here, they will have nothing to do but to rise 
to-morrow morning, and start, if you are well enough/ — I do 
not think I have ever seen a more affectionate father than 
Colonel Manville. He seemed anxious to please everybody. 
Nature made him a gentleman, and fortune, with a finished 
education, had embellished the inborn patrimony. He con- 
tinued to gaze on Lavinia with fatherly tenderness, and the 
tears ran down his face as he looked at Julia, Kate, Lizette, and 
Ada, remarking, 4 My children, I regret that you are not 
happy. I have always desired domestic harmony. I am often 
pained at the discord which has prevailed at my fireside/ — 
4 Pa/ interrupted the pale, weak Lavinia, 4 henceforward I 


100 


LOUISE ELTON; 


hope the girls, for your sake, will endeavor to live peaceably, 
if not happily. I know how you are situated. I feel dis- 
tressed often on your account. It is useless to regret a matter 
that we know to be fixed and unalterable. I know that when 
a widower marries, especially if he has a family of children, 
he must either please one party or the other. If he attempts 
to conform to the wishes of his children, he, of course, must 
offend his wife. If he makes a favorite of his wife, the chil- 
dren are apt to become jealous, and think that ‘ father’ bestows 
too much attention on a stepmother. Sister Emily and I 
spoke of this to one another often, when we heard that you 
were determined on marrying Mrs. Danetson. Emily and 
myself could not reside here in any degree of comfort, as there 
was generally so much confusion with the servants, and the 
pulling down of old houses, &c. &c. We are too sickly to be 
where there is so much noise, and such a perfect bustle, as has 
been here so long. I believe that we could stay here, however, 
without quarrelling with our stepmother. Emily’s amiability is 
a safeguard against outbreaks of temper, and I do not think 
that there would be any danger of me, for you have always 
told me that I kept my temper entrenched within the fortress 
of forbearance. I may never see you again, dear pa, after 
to-morrow morning, and I beg you to be master of your own 
house as you once were ; and as I believe it to be contrary 
to nature for a stepmother to practise maternal affection 
towards children who are not allied to herself, I hope you will 
never forget that paternal justice and guardianship which you 
are expected to extend to my dear young sisters here, espe- 
cially Julia and Lizette, — they have more temper than the 
remainder of us taken collectively.’ 

“ Colonel Manville seemed to be deeply impressed with the 
admonition of his dying daughter; and after wiping the tears 
from her eyes, he kissed her, and left the office. I felt sad- 
dened at this affecting scene ; for I did not believe that the 
Colonel knew how low Lavinia really was. The evening, like 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 101 

the beautiful woman, was wasting away. Lavinia, every now 
and then, would leave her couch, walk to the side window, and 
look wistfully through the forest. She expected to see her 
sister Emily every moment. Once she remarked, ‘ 1 hope 
Uncle Charles will send Ivan ora with Emily, and let her go 
to Cuba with us/ I repeated the name of ‘ Ivanora’* to myself 
three or four times. I thought it a very singular and beautiful 
name. At length, I said, ‘ Miss Lavinia, who is Ivanora ? I 
am fascinated with the novelty of the name/ — ‘ She is/ said 
Lavinia, ‘ our dear, sweet cousin/ — I replied, ‘ 1 have never 
heard you speak of her. I suppose she is a young cousin just 
from some convent, and just old enough now to come out on the 
arena of society V — Lavinia answered me by saying, ‘ She is a 
very interesting woman, indeed/ — ‘ Does she reside at Man- 
ville Hall V said I, not satisfied altogether with the reply of 
Lavinia. — ‘She does/ said she. — ‘Well/ said I, ‘is she your 
first cousin V — ‘No/ rejoined Lavinia, ‘she is not; she is 
Uncle Charles Manville’s granddaughter, and she is our con- 
stant companion when we are at Manville Hall. You have 
often seen Uncle Charles, have you not, Miss Morris V — ‘ Oh, 
yes, frequently/ said I ; ‘ but I have never heard you speak of 
your cousin Ivanora before. When I first came here, you 
and Miss Emily used to talk a great deal about your cousin 
Ella/ — ‘ Yes/ said Lavinia ; ‘ but we have stayed almost two 
years at Manville Hall, and as it is seven hundred miles from 
here, and such a secluded old Hall, of course, there has 
been but little or no communication between the inmates of 
Green Haven and those of Manville Hall, with the exception 
of Sister Emily, Uncle Doctor, and myself, for a great while, 
and, more especially, since ma's death ; for she used to think 
that there was not such a model of perfection on the earth as 
Uncle Charles Manville. He is, I expect, coming down with 
Emily and Ivanora to spend a few days with pa. Dear Uncle 


* Pronounced I-van-o-ra. 
9 * 


102 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Charles ! he is so heavenly-minded ; I never saw so much 
purity blended with human nature ; and he is perfectly devoted 
to Ivauora. She is the only child of his deceased daughter, 
Mrs. Birlyn.’ — ‘Ivanora/ continued I, <; tis a grand and lovely 
name ; what is it taken from, Miss Lavinia V — ‘ I do not know 
exactly/ she said; ‘I believe Uncle Charles gave her the name 
of Ivanora. I have not strength, at present, to tell you about 
our cousin; her history is as curious as her name. Just wait 
till you see her ; she is a perfect beauty ; so everybody says 
who sees her. You will see a moderately tall, elegant woman ; 
she has sad, large, brown eyes, and brown hair, which curls 
naturally in great long ringlets, that touch her waist. Her 
complexion is pale, — very much so : she is the whitest creature 
I ever saw, and she has such a pensive cast of countenance ; she 
sighs often, and has shed many tears of sorrow. The burning 
stream which has so often flowed over her cheeks, has washed 
away that delicate peach-blossom hue which bloomed there 
when she first grew up. She has been truly unfortunate. She 
is devoted to her grandfather, and he is equally as fond of her. 
Lovely, unfortunate Ivanora ! when I am lying here alone, re- 
flecting upon her sorrows, I seem to feel an inward tingling of 
my tenderest heartstrings. I have never seen a woman of her 
age with such a finished education, — no one so highly gifted, — 
no one so deeply read, — none so familiar with all the ele- 
gant accomplishments, — and no one so truly unfortunate. I 
cannot tell you now her history in detail. Emily will bring 
her, I know; and I shall be happy in her society on the “ dis- 
tant sea-girt isle.” ’ — Said I, ‘ Miss Lavinia, is your interest- 
ing cousin in bad health V — 1 Oh no/ replied Lavinia ; ‘ she 
never had a day’s sickness in her life, except at heart. Her 
physical strength is far superior to that of every member of the 
Manville name, amongst the females ; and I want her to go to 
Cuba, because I love her so dearly ; besides, Emily and I never 
feel satisfied without we have Ivanora with us ; and, notwith- 
standing her sadness, I have seen the day when she was 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


103 


sprightly and cheerful. She is so intelligent, and such a pat- 
tern of gentleness, goodness, and resignation, that I want her 
to go with us. If I die on the island, I want Ivanora, Emily, 
Uncle Doctor, and my priest, to be the only persons pre- 
sent ; and I want Ivanora to hold my hand till my spirit leaves 
this world. She can sometimes make me feel that there is a 
charm in death, and I do not believe that she would be fright- 
ened at any moment if told that she was dying. I regard it as 
a very happy circumstance to have some one you love so near 
you, when the bark, containing the timorous spirit, is about to 
be launched on the deep, dark waters of eternity / — i I wish 
she may come/ said I ; and just then Lavinia called me to the 
window, and said, 1 Look through the trees, away to the left 
yonder ; is not that a carriage moving slowly along ? They 
are coming ! There’s Emily and Ivanora, I feel assured/ and 
calling to Godfrey, the servant boy, she bade him run to her 
pa, and tell him that Miss Emily was almost at Green Haven. 
‘ Oh, how joyful I feel, Miss Anna; there’s another carriage 
coming, and ’tis Uncle Charles Manville’s. I shall not be sur- 
prised if he goes with us to Cuba; he loves Ivanora so much 
that I do not see how he can part with her.’ Lavinia now laid 
herself down on the long, white-covered couch, almost breath- 
less with excitement, at the approach of those so near and dear. 
I ran to the other office, which then stood by the front gate. I 
sent Julia, with Kate, Lizette, and Ada, to Lavinia ; for I 
thought it most advisable for me to retire till their tears of 
joy, at meeting, were wiped away. Curiosity, which is said to 
be a prominent feature in woman’s character, chained me to 
the window that opened on the lawn. I was anxious to see 
the face of that beautiful, melancholy, and mysterious woman. 
I saw Mr. Charles Manville alight from his carriage, and then 
Dr. Finlay. They went to the other vehicle, and helped 
two ladies out of it. I could not tell one from the other, they 
were so near the same size, and dressed exactly alike — in deep 
mourning. I soon knew which was Ivanora; for Miss Emily 


104 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


threw her arms around Colonel Manville, and exclaimed, i Ah, 
my dear pa ! how is Lavinia ?’ I looked in vain for the 
long brown ringlets, and the beautiful face of Ivanora ) for the 
mournful, nun-like veil hid those charms from my eager 
eyes. They all went to the office to weep over Lavinia, and I 
heard no more of them till tea was announced, when I was in- 
troduced to the strange lady. I looked steadfastly at Ivanora 
as she sat beside her venerable grandfather. She looked pen- 
sive and melancholy sure enough. She appeared to be a young 
lady of about eighteen years of age, exceedingly beautiful, and 
I thought I discovered rather more restlessness and quickness 
in her countenance than I expected to see. It is, however, a 
nervousness, thought I, brought on, perhaps, by the bitter 
draught of sorrow of which I had learned that she had so often 
drank. There was something like decision, too, stamped upon 
her face, and her high, white forehead, and splendid hazel eyes, 
bespoke an intellect naturally powerful. She was very taciturn. 
She seemed not disposed to converse, and spoke to no one at 
the table, but in the laconic response, when invited to par- 
take of the table delicacies, 1 I thank you, no more/ I was 
charmed with the music of her voice. I thought it must ren- 
der her a dear object, when she was in conversation with those 
who appreciate a musical voice. She only ate one small cracker, 
drank a little tea ; and as she left the supper-room with her 
grandfather, Colonel Manville, without thinking of me, re- 
marked to Emily that he supposed ( Ivanora was more miserable 

and melancholy than ever, since Louis' then he stopped 

suddenly, at observing me, and made some other remark to 
Emily. You recollect I told you that Mr. Manville had a 
son murdered while Lavinia and Emily stayed at Manville 
Hall. I believe he was called Louis ; but I never have been 
able to learn the particulars of his death. I retired to my 
room that night perplexed, because I always dislike mystery 
and suspense, and I felt disappointed in not learning more of 
the strange being than I had, whose arrival I had looked to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


105 


with so much anxiety. I feared that there was more sternness, 
perhaps, and coldness in the organization of Ivanora than I at 
first imagined, and I began to wonder if she really possessed 
that gentleness and humility, with which Lavinia had said she 
was endowed ; or whether she was capable of lightening the 
burden of death, or of raising the hopes of the sufferer as the 
gates of eternity opened.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

u The fair goddess of the morning had unclosed the portals 
of day ; the tender rays of the sun were gleaming through the 
morning’s twilight, as Emily Manville stood weeping under the 
old cypress tree, that shaded the front windows of the little cot- 
tage, where she had slept with Ivanora, and the sinking Lavinia. 
She looked up to the old tree often, as if its deformed limbs 
called to mind some loved circumstance. Its ancient branches 
heedlessly beat the boards that covered the rustic cottage ; for 
the strong gales of the vernal equinox were blowing briskly, 
and the tall forest trees bowed before them. The family at 
Green Haven (except Mrs. Manville), arose at an earlier hour 
than usual ; after awhile breakfast was served ; tears at saying 
farewell were shed, and then Lavinia and Emily Manville, ac- 
companied by Hr. Finlay and the melancholy Ivanora, com- 
menced their long journey over the broad flower-bespangled 
savannas, to a busy city on the verge of the sea, to embark in 
search of the evergreen groves, where the youthful and beau- 
tiful goddess of health is said to reside. They arrived safely 
in about ten days after they left Green Haven, and went aboard 
a ship bound for Havana. After their departure, Miss J ulia 
told me, that she 1 feared she would never see either of her 
sisters again ; that Emily’s health was dreadful, and that 
Emily believed she never would return alive; that she spent 


106 


LOUISE ELTON) 


the greater portion of the night before her departure in tears, 
over the reminiscences of home. Said she to J ulia, 1 Scarcely 
a vestige of its former sweetness and simplicity now meets my 
eye. The wild rose that clustered so thickly over the old porch, 
has been cut down, and its leaves, once so fresh and green, lie 
scorching yonder on those piles of rubbish. Where are those 
pretty mounds, whose tops used to rise almost to the upper 
windows ? they were once covered with grass and sweet myrtle. 
Major Barrick planted the myrtle there, but it is all gone) and 
the top, whereon he used to sit and serenade me, with the soft 
strains from his flute, has been scalped by the trowels of the 
rude mortar-makers. The magnolias are cut down, and our 
little beds of sweet violet and heartsease have been crushed 
by the relentless wheels of the brick-mason’s Juggernaut. The 
workmen have kindled fires with the slats of the alcoves, where 
the rose and the ivy used to grow. Waldegrave’s violin and 
gun are now thrown into the lumber-room with old broken fur- 
niture, and his white dog Luath is dead. Edwin, poor babe, is 
nursed by a foster-mother ) and the paintings that ma used to 
love so well, are crowded within the offices. So many great 
weights of chairs, mirrors, and tables, are piled upon them in 
the out-houses, that Julia and Kate cannot get hold of many 
of those precious relics. Everybody’s attention must be directed 
to the fine buildings going up. Old things are passing away, 
all things are to be made new. This,’ continued mournful 
Emily , 1 is not the home I used to love. Ours was plain, but 
I loved its rustic sweetness ) I love the clear stream that winds 
round the little hills yonder ; the tall forest trees, and the vines 
that climb round them ) the wilderness of native flowers ) 
and the birds that swarm in the hedges of jasmine and Chicka- 
saw rose. There’s the cool, clear spring, that breaks from the 
base of the hill, — they are going to remove the moss-covered 
rock that has sheltered it so long, and build a high brick house 
over it ) they will hew down the pretty trees that have shaded 
it, and tear away those delicate vines which cling to them. I 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


107 


have, perhaps, drank my last draught of water from the rustic 
fount. To-morrow, I will visit my mother’s grave, and weave 
chaplets of evergreens and leave them on the stone at her head, 
for this sequestered green spot is ere long to be crushed by a 
tall weighty monument. How I love simplicity ! especially about 
a grave, for I always recollect t(iis beautiful sentiment, that 
in gazing on a splendid monument, we are apt to forget the dead 
in admiration of the tomb/ Poor Emily ! this was her soli- 
loquy before she bade farewell to Green Haven ; she did not 
think, perhaps, that the heavy monument she so much disliked 
to see rising over her mother, was to have her own pretty name 
engraved upon its smooth white shaft. It was not erected 
till about six months ago ; not until everything else had been 
handled by the great genius of modern architecture.” 


CHAPTER XI Y. 

“ You must allow me, Miss Elton, to describe a scene to you 
on the afternoon of the day that the party left Green Haven 
for Cuba. The workmen who were building this fine house, 
had torn away the old wicket that once opened in front of 
the house, and the deep tracks of the cart-wheels were visible 
all over the yard. The axe, the saw, the hammer, the plane, 
and the trowel, were being actively used, and the merry whistle 
of the hodman rung through the bracing atmosphere of March. 
All was bustle and confusion ; Colonel Manville, looking very 
serious, was walking about the yard with his beloved moiety 
hanging on his arm. She had on her over-shoes, as she was too 
delicate to venture upon the damp ground without protecting her 
feet. Her knit shawl was thrown over her shoulders, and her 
hooked nose stood out in bold relief, from beneath her green 
quilted silk hood. There she promenaded around and around, 
talking to Colonel Manville. I imagine that I hear her now, 


108 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


saying, in her shrill fine tone of voice, 1 My dear, I want to 
get into the house by the latter part of May. I am heartily 
sick of that old frame tenement yonder, ’tis so uncomfortable. 
It seems to me that these workmen go on so slowly, that I be- 
lieve they are at play about half of their time ; I am tired of the 
whole set ; their noise almost turns me crazy ; and I wish you to 
dismiss that great rude fellow who drives the brick-cart forth- 
with, and that one who whistles so loudly and shrill on the wall 
there. I am surprised at you, Colonel Manville, to humor such 
men as these rough fellows, by permitting your servants to at- 
tend them so constantly. You need them this moment about 
your corn. Dear me, how you remind me of Mr. Haddington, 
my first husband ; he was an easy manager, and at last all of his 
out-door business devolved upon me. I expect we will starve here 
this year : that great stone-mason eats like a Kentucky hog- 
driver, and I have heard all my life that the Kentuckians can 
eat more than any people in the world. I want you to tell him 
he must leave here immediately ; that your wife’s nerves are so 
delicate, that she cannot be composed where he is ; his name is 
Jackson, too, and I cannot bear the name; so send him away, 
my dear, immediately, if you have any regard for me, for Ge- 
neral J ackson turned my father out of the post-office in the city 
of ; and I shall be thrown into spasms if that man re- 

mains here, for every time I look at him I think of Old Hickory 
Jackson, whom I consider a grand villain, and a disgrace to this 
country. If you have any regard for my feelings, Colonel Man- 
ville, I know you will send him away ; I cannot stand it, 
indeed, my dear, I cannot; it wounds my pride every time I 
hear the name of J ackson, for I never can forget the humilia- 
tion of our family, when orders came for father to leave the 
post-office.’ — ‘ Never mind Jackson, my dear,’ said Colonel Man- 
ville ; ‘ compose yourself, and do not act so much like a child. 
Jackson : s a first-rate fellow, and he is not related to Andrew 
Jackson ; he is one of the best workmen at the building, and 
if you force me to send away the best hands, perhaps I may 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 109 

not be able to supply tbeir places. I want the work done by 
superior men; and Jackson is one of the finest architects in the 
Union. I am the best judge of such matters, so let Jackson 
alone/ — ‘ Colonel Manville, you are one of the most contrary 
men I ever saw. I always managed Mr. Haddington’s and 
Mr. Danetson’s affairs just as I chose ; they used to praise me 
for my judgment and good sense, and I stick to it, if Jackson 
remains here his very name will render me miserable. You 
know how nervous I am ; and instead of endeavoring to soothe 
me, as my other husbands have done, you use all manner of 
argument to aggravate me .’ — 1 Well, my dear/ replied Colonel 
Manville ; ‘I cannot send Jackson away. I tell you I wish to 
get this work completed as soon as possible ; Jackson has under- 
taken a large portion of it, and he must not be interrupted/ 
then walking up to her in a playful, kind way, as if the Colonel 
concluded to jest with her, and humor her, he remarked to her, 
‘ My dear, Jackson has voted forme several times ; his vote aids 
me sometimes to get to the Senate, now do not say any more 
about it, love. It was conceded by all your father’s friends to 
have been the best thing for him that ever was done, to be re- 
moved from the arduous responsibilities of the post-office. He 
was dying for months, for relaxation from business, and he 
never would have left the office voluntarily; he died ex- 
tremely wealthy, and made seven-tenths of his fortune, anyhow, 
by holding a lucrative office of the Government.’ — ‘ That does 
not alter the case/ said she; ‘old Andrew Jackson is the 
meanest man on the earth ; and I will not breathe the same 
atmosphere with anybody who spells his name as he does.’ — 
( Well/ said Colonel Manville, ‘ be satisfied then, for I tell 
you he is not related to Andrew Jackson, and I believe he 
spells his name Jaxon.’ — ‘ Colonel Manville/ said his wife, ‘ I 
see you are attempting to gain a victory over me, and no man 
has ever done that ; I tell you my other husbands never offered 
to contradict me ; and I know that you have had all this contrari- 
ness put into your head. I knew yesterday that you wereclo- 

10 


no 


LOUISE ELTON j 


seted in conversation with your children about me. I was at 
the door of the office, once ; I was going to ask Lavinia about 
her faith in Christ, for I see that she is dying ; and I heard her 
tell you to be master of your own house. Very good ! I'll show 
the whole set of you that I am invincible ; I am, indeed, sir ; I 
am !' and then she began to scream, and would have fallen, 
but the kind-hearted husband caught her in his arms, carried 
her into the library, laid her on a lounge, and sent a servant 
for the Doctor. 


CHAPTER XV. 

u The summer after Lavinia and Emily left home was noted 
for its extraordinary beauty. When they left here, the fierce 
winds of March, were blowing over the great seas, their strong 
tempestuous currents. The air at last became still, and the 
rough winds were safe in the hollow of the hand of the Great 
Architect. The warm southern sun and the life-giving showers 
of the season, had awakened vegetation's most exuberant blooms. 
Here, the majestic southern forest rose before you, and there 
ran the deep, rapid rivers, with schooners and steamboats, 
bearing aloft the ensigns of commerce, of four, five, and six 
hundred tons, laden with many luxuries, and the convenient 
articles manufactured by foreign people. The gales that blew 
over the beds of flowers in the spring-time, brought their deli- 
cate fragrance into my cottage ; the wild birds built their chan- 
try, in the tops of the crape-myrtle trees, and warbled all day 
amongst its clusters of rich pink blossoms. The margins of 
the clear rivulets were welted with flowers, wild flowers of bril- 
liant color and glossy leaves. Now and then, the live oak 
raised its mystic head, perpetually green, and mystic because 
it always looks young and fresh. Its strong roots seem to be wet- 
ted in the mysterious fountain of Eldorado, which is perhaps hid- 
den underneath the earth, and its moisture always keeps the live 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


Ill 


oak in a green and healthful state. The magnolia, that magnifi- 
cent tree, was not far off, raising its conical head towards the 
clouds, loaded with bunches of elegant flowers, which glittered 
in the sunlight, amongst the delicate shades of the foliage. A 
large portion of the 1 low country 7 was clothed with the cot- 
ton plant ) the rice, and sugar cane, also stood in abundance 
upon the southern lea, and plenty was spread before you, as far 
as the eye could scan the planters glebe. I was one day con- 
templating this glorious scene, when Colonel Manville received 
the intelligence that Lavinia was no more. He received a letter 
from Dr. Finlay, through Dr. Hume, who came here to inform 
her father and the girls, of the sad death. Miss Julia gave me 
an extract from the letter that she received from Ivanora. I 
have taken care of it, on account of its wild sweetness. It 
read thus : 

“ 1 Her young spirit, as it was departing, appeared as if it 
wished to linger around the tenement it had so lately enlivened ! 
Once, when we thought she was gone, she unclosed the lids of 
her eyes, that so lately were black and sparkling, but the gauze- 
like membrane of death was then over them ! They shone 
dimly through the gloss ! Again her spirit seemed to rise, on 
its untried pinions, to take a view of eternity ! The valley of 
death was before it ! I thought of the young bird, when it 
rises first from the downy nest, where it has slumbered and 
been gently rocked ; it trims its little wings, then flies timor- 
ously above the green shade, but afraid of the broad expanse of 
hills and vales, again it seeks the nest. It rests, and after gain- 
ing more confidence, it soars away out of sight, over the inter- 
minable wild ! Just so, did the spirit of Lavinia gently linger. 
I heard her draw a deep sigh, then I said to the weeping 
Emily, All's done ! but the timid spirit had come back to rest 
on her bosom, and to deliberate upon the wide, strange country 
to which it was going. In an instant, it was time to depart, 
and bird-like, it mounted the island zephyr, and she breathed 
no more/ 


112 


LOUISE ELTON; 


“I supposed that Dr. Finlay would return with Emily and 
Ivanora, immediately, but as they intended to bring Lavinia' s 
remains to Green Haven, and Emily's health had improved so 
fast, they concluded to stay several months. Dr. Finlay was 
willing to remain, as he had an opportunity to study the Spa- 
nish language, and as subjects for dissection were so plentiful, 
he perfected himself in the science of anatomy; he also had the 
beautiful intellectual and amiable Ivanora, to entertain him, and 
was favored with the society of his accomplished niece. It 
seems that Miss Emily believed that her health was entirely 
restored, for she wrote to her father, that instead of that tall, 
light figure which she presented when she left the United 
States, that she weighed one hundred and thirty-five pounds. 
She said that she rose early every morning, and exercised a 
great deal, before the inhabitants of their part of Havana were 
awake. She thought that the Cubans seem to be a languid 
class of people, but whether it was the result of the warm, lus- 
cious air they inhale, or the effect of tobacco and rum, it was 
difficult to define. I received one letter from her, in which 
she wrote me, that no one had ever seen her cheeks red in her 
native country. Poor Emily, those were her healthiest days, 
perhaps, for she never saw any more. They returned, the fol- 
lowing December, and with the carriage and baggage wagon, 
that conveyed the two cousins, and Dr. Finlay, and their travel- 
ling effects, came the hearse bearing a leaden coffin in a black 
case, containing the remains of Lavinia. Yes, they brought 
her home, and I saw her coffin put into the cold earth. Colo- 
nel Manville was greatly distressed, and the girls were in tears 
for months, after the burial of Lavinia. Poor Dr. Finlay ! I 
used to see him, many a time, standing over the graves of La- 
vinia and his deceased sister, the first Mrs. Mauville. He 
looked very serious, and I have seen a stream of tears burst 
from his eyes many a time, when he has spoken of those dear 
departed ones." — “Did Mrs. Manville shed any tears over 
Lavinia when they brought her corpse to Green Haven ?” said 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 113 

“Not one,” replied Miss Anna; “she went to bed and de- 
clared herself too nervous for anybody to speak to her.” — I 
then asked Miss Morris, to tell me all she had heard about 
Ivanora, after her return from Cuba, and requested her to con- 
ceal nothing from me that she knew of Manville Hall. I 
now felt a little dissatisfied about promising to go there. I 
began to think so much about its seclusion, and Ivanora, 
the mysterious granddaughter, who was a resident of the 
Hall, and the manor, and that old Mr. Manville’s son had 
been murdered there, that I regretted I had consented to go, 
and I ardently longed for Alva to arrive and take me home. 
“Miss Morris,” said I, “did you hear Ivanora converse with 
any one?” — “I did,” replied she; “'I heard her converse 
with Colonel Manville, at dinner one day; she only remained 
here one week after they returned, and she kept her room very 
closely. I heard Colonel Manville ask her about her expenses 
on the Island, what it cost her for board, &c., and then she 
gave him a very lucid account of the Spaniards in Havana, and 
different parts of the Island of Cuba. I then heard Colonel 
Manville remark, 1 1 trust, my dear child, that your darkest sor- 
rows are past, and that your future life may be a happier one 
than that which has clouded your bygone days. I know 
nothing, of course, of the individual in question, but suppose 
that Finlay is sufficiently acquainted with human nature to 
form a correct estimate of his moral worth, &c. Emily 
seems to be very much pleased with him, and believes that 
there is no risk at all. The name of his father is quite familiar, 
although I am not personally acquainted with himself. I very 
much approve your course, Ivanora. I believe it will be the 
means of drawing your mind from those sorrows and cares 
which have occasioned you so many bitter tears and days of 
mourning. Your relations know that you are not to blame, 
and, of course, what the world will think and say, you cannot 
help. Everybody feels licensed to express their opinion about 
a matter which becomes public. Some will condemn; still, 

10 * 


114 


LOUISE ELTON; 


where the conscience is tranquil, it must be a source of great 
consolation to one in your situation. I was deeply distressed 
when I heard of the fate of Louis. I knew very well, when 
Finlay informed me that Louis was suspicious of that fellow 
and was eager to let him know what he believed about him, 
that there would be a serious difficulty. I knew that his Man- 
ville blood was warming, and I too well knew that when his 
Scotch fire was kindled that there would be a great conflagra- 
tion before it was extinguished. I addressed a letter to Dr. 
Finlay and Arthur, upon the subject, and entreated them to 
caution Louis and beg of him not to act rashly; but before they 
received my letter all was over/ Ivanora was in tears, during 
the time that Colonel Manville was conversing with her, and 
she spoke not a word; and as I was rather shocked at what I 
had heard, I left the lower parlor and stood on the balcony 
until they walked out of the upper apartment. All was to me 
an enigma. I could ascertain nothing, of a definite character, 
relative to the mystery which shaded Ivanora, or the strange 
death, or murder perhaps, of Mr. Charles Manville’ s son. 

“ The day after this conversation, as I was coming from the 
school-room, it commenced raining, and I stepped into the new 
office ; all these new buildings were finished then ; there are 
two rooms to the new office, and in the adjoining room I heard 
two persons talking. Miss Ivanora was in conversation with 
an aged servant-woman belonging to Colonel Manville. It ap- 
peared that old Sallie had nursed Ivanora when an infant, and 
they were familiarly acquainted. When I first entered the 
office, I heard Miss Ivanora say, ‘ Aunt Sallie, tell me every- 
thing he said V Old Sallie, instead of addressing her by the 
name of Ivanora, called her ‘ Miss Ella/ I supposed Ella was 
a name perhaps given her by old Sallie, for some reason, when 
she nursed her, for she said, ‘ Well, dear Miss Ella, he told me 
that you were not to blame about it ; that you were so young, 
and such a child; that he believed, then, that he loved you as 
well as ever. He said when he heard what had happened, he 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


115 


was so sorry it almost killed him. Did you ever see his wife, 
Miss Ella?’ continued the ancient negress . — ‘ Oh, no/ said she, 
1 1 never have seen her/ Then old Sallie warmly exclaimed, 
1 My stars, Miss Ella, she's so ugly. And one day, I says, 
“ Master Leon, what made you marry such an ugly woman ?" 
He said, “ Confound the woman ; what difference does it make ? 
a man never loves but once, and you know how dearly I used 
to love Ella ? I respect my wife," he said ; “ and she had 
plenty of money, and a large plantation well stocked with slaves, 
and everything else, and she’s a very good woman /’ then he 
clapped his hands on his heart, and says, “ All the love I ever 
felt for the female sex is locked in here, and I never mean to 
love any more." ’ As Ivanora came out of the room, I dis- 
covered she had been weeping. I explained to her how I came 
there, for fear that she might think me an eavesdropper. She 
behaved very politely, however, and as it was raining too fast for 
her to go to the mansion, she went again into the adjoining 
apartment, and closed the door. I heard her dismiss old Sallie, 
telling her to come to her room after the shower, that she had 
a box of nice things to give her. ‘ Thank you, thank you, 
Miss Ella/ said old Sallie, as she left the office ; ‘ Grod bless 
you, pretty Miss Ella, I hope you will be happy ) but dis is a 
strange world / and so I thought too, and wondering why the 
inmates of the mansion called the lovely woman Ivanora, and 
why the old nurse should address her as ‘ Miss Ella.’ " 
“ What has become of her?" said I to Miss Morris. — “Well, 
all I can say, Miss Elton, is this : she left here with Colonel 
Manville, who carried her home to Manville Hall, and I sup- 
pose she is there now." — “Why did you not ask Miss Emily 
something about her?" — “I mentioned her name to Emily 
often, but she was like all the others ; she did not seem as if 
she loved to speak of her. I said to Emily, one day, ‘ How sad 
and careworn your cousin looks. I suppose she must be very 
melancholy from some cause or another ?’ but Miss Emily evi- 
dently evaded my interrogation, and I never could condescend 


116 


LOUISE ELTON) 


to question servants; I place little or no confidence in what 
they say; and as I plainly saw that there was then, as there 
still is a mystery that envelopes this woman’s life, I would not 
make many attempts to break the silence which this family ob- 
served towards her.” — Said I, “ Where is old Sallie ?” — “ Old 
Sallie,” said Miss Morris, “ died that summer when the fever 
raged here so violently. She died about one week before Miss 
Julia. There was a regular and frequent correspondence be- 
tween Emily and Ivanora, after Ivanora left here. And one 
day, not long after Miss Emily’s death, Julia was in my room 
looking through Emily’s portfolio. All of Major Barrick’s 
letters were there ; but J ulia seemed to be searching for Iva- 
nora’s letters to Emily. She remarked, ‘ 1 am so sorry to find 
that Ivanora’s letters are not here. I was just preparing my 
mind for a feast upon the intellectual banquet which her letters 
afford. They are not in the portfolio. That’s just like some 
of their notions, and I expect that Sister Emily destroyed them, 
and if she did not, Ivanora has, no doubt.’ Now is the time, 
thought I, to ask Julia something about her. So I said, 
‘Miss Julia, where is your cousin Ivanora? I was pleased 
with her intellectual and beautiful face, and graceful figure, 
when I saw her here, and wished to become acquainted 
with her.’ — Julia replied, ‘She is at Manville Hall.’ — I then 
said, ‘Miss Julia, what is the cause of her paleness and 
grief?’ Now, what do you think, Miss Elton ! Julia sprung 
upon her feet suddenly, walked quickly to the door, and said, 
‘ Bid not some one call me ?’ and out she ran, and I did not lay 
eyes on her again till the next morning at the breakfast-table, 
and I have not been able to learn anything definite of Ivanora 
at all. I have never heard Kate, Lizette, or Ada, mention her 
name.” — I asked Miss Morris if she thought Ivanora would be 

at Manville Hall while I remained there as governess. “ I 

suppose so,” she replied ; “ her home is at Mr. Charles Man- 
ville’s. They say he is her grandfather, and she seemed de- 
voted to him; and the old gentleman really looked greatly 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 117 

distressed when he parted with her the morning on which she 
started to Cuba. I am satisfied that she is there ; for Emily 
Manville showed me the superscription of a letter from Ivanora 
once. Emily was boasting that her cousin was such a splendid 
scribe; and just before you came here, I saw a letter directed, 
in her handwriting, to Colonel Manville. She does all old Mr. 
Manville’s writing; and her hand upon paper shows indivi- 
duality of character decidedly, and, indeed, all the fragments 
relating to her, tell me that her mind and heart, naturally, 
must have inclined very reluctantly towards melancholy and 
gloom. She appeared to me like one who was formed for a 
busy, active, and gay life. I felt very sorry when I heard old 
Mr. Manville groan and sigh so mournfully. When I first 
lived at G-reen Haven, and he visited here occasionally, he was 
remarkably chatty, and full of jest and repartee. His son re- 
sides somewhere below here, and whenever he visited him, he 
used to stop to see the family at this place. However, I had 
not seen him for some time, till he came down to see Kate 
married. She was exceedingly anxious for her Uncle Charles 
to be present at her wedding, and, secretly, I was wishing that 
Ivanora would come too ; but I was disappointed and vexed. 
I have curiosity to know what this great mystery is, and why 
she so studiously manages to keep herself so retired from the 
world. I suppose I shall never know anything more about 
her, unless you learn her story, and write me the particulars, 
after you reside some time at Manville Hall. I shall expect to 
receive fetters from you, Miss Elton ; and if you hear anything, 
you must be certain to let me into the secret too.” — I recol- 
lected that when Mr. Manville engaged me to go to his house 
as gouvernante , that he sighed and groaned frequently, like a 
person who was suffering from some great mental affliction ; he 
did not, however, of course, refer to the murder of any one of 
his family, and only spoke but a few w*)rds relative to his 
granddaughter. “I recollect,” continued I, to Miss Morris, 
“ that he said something about his granddaughter’s being a poor, 


118 


LOUISE ELTON; 


unfortunate creature; but he did not mention the name of 
Ivanora. I know I should have recollected it ; for I, like 
yourself, Miss Anna, think Ivanora a strange, yet sweet name. 
How uncommon it is ! I never before have heard anything 
like it.” — “ You will have a pretty large family at Manville 
Hall, Miss Elton,” rejoined Miss Morris; “ you will be pleased 
with Miss Matilda Manville, and Mrs. Newland; and old Par- 
son Macdonald is at the Hall, too. He came here once, and 
is one of the most religious men I ever saw. He is a Presby- 
terian preacher, and thinks more of his nephew, Walter Fin- 
lay, than anybody in the world.” I thanked Miss Morris for 
the trouble she had taken to interest me, as the time would 
have hung very heavily upon my mind and heart, if I had 
not found such an interesting and communicative lady. I 
thought, too, that I never had heard of so many elegant and 
beautiful characters in my life as she had described to me ; and 
as my brother had informed me by letter that our friend, Mr. 
Lampton, had gone to the city of Mobile to get the money he 
owed us, and that he was very comfortable with Upperton and 
Hoff, and much in love with Floretta Woodman, I knew he 
was not coming away from them very soon, I thought I 
would content myself; so said I, a Miss Anna, give me some- 
thing else to sew for you, and then go on, as you promised, 
and narrate to me the life of Miss Emily Manville.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

STORY OF EMILY. 

u You recollect, Miss Elton, I have told you that Emily came 
home from Cuba, and in a short time Colonel Manville went to 
Manville Hall, and tarried Ivanora home. He was gone about 
five weeks ; when they left here, to us, Miss Emily appeared to 
be in perfect health. As the season advanced, she grew very 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


119 


delicate. She used to have spells of coughing, which almost 
exhausted her ; still, she kept about, and was cheerful and 
very sprightly. Sometimes I used to sleep with her, and I 
discovered that she had a great dislike to my lying very near 
her. One night, just before Colonel Manville returned from 
his brother’s, it grew damp and cool. Our fire had gone out, 
and Emily awoke with a chill. I rose, rung for the servant, 
and sent out to the office for Dr. Finlay. He came imme- 
diately, and I judged from the questions he asked Miss Emily, 
that he believed she was not long for this world. She had a 
shortness of breath, and was exceedingly weak and low. We 
sat up till about three o’clock with her, Julia, Kate, Dr. Fin- 
lay, and myself, and we tried to compose her, as she seemed 
to be greatly distressed, and told Dr. Finlay that she had never 
believed herself dying till that night. The Doctor asked her 
what had made her come to that conclusion so suddenly ? She 
replied that whenever she saw a doctor coming with the 
stethoscope, she trembled, and that when he had come to see 
her of late he brought it with him, and that she knew, when 
he took it from her chest, from his countenance, that he had 
nothing favorable to say to her. After awhile, she fell asleep, 
and before I lay down again, I went to her, and she was bathed 
in a clammy sweat. I put my hand on her heart; it beat 
quickly ; and she breathed as if it was fatiguing to her. She 
awoke as I stood over her, and started. She says, ‘Is it you, 
Miss Anna ? I thought it was Uncle Doctor going to put that 
hateful stethoscope on me again. I always think of what 
Lavinia said. We were talking about consumption one day, 
and she said that she would as soon see her coffin in the room, 
as to see a set of physicians with the stethoscope, and their 
ears close to your chest, listening to the beating of your heart.’ 
— Said I, ‘Miss Emily, you are in a perspiration.’ — Then the 
poor thing commenced weeping, and remarked, ‘ I believe I am 
half gone in consumption. I have striven against it so faith- 
fully, and tried to outlive it. I am like the Spaniard I saw 


120 


LOUISE ELTON; 


drown when I was in Havana. He rose to the surface four 
times, soldier-like he buffetted the briny waves, but his feeble 
arms gave way after awhile, and he sunk from our view. I 
have thought for several years that I had the consumption, and 
still I disliked to say anything about it. I have often tried to 
prevent your lying near me when we have occupied the same 
bed, fearing that you would discover that I had the night- 
sweats. I dislike to linger so long ; if I could die suddenly, 
since I know my fate, I would prefer it. I cannot bear the 
idea of seeing the grave open so long. Pa has no idea that I 
am so nigh gone. I looked so much better than I have looked 
since I was first grown, when I came home, that pa has hopes 
of my entire restoration. Uncle Doctor knows how I am. He 
is too tender-hearted, however, to tell me to go to bed, that I am 
too ill to sit up. He knows there is no earthly remedy for 
me, and he dislikes, too, to distress pa. He brought several of 
the most eminent Spanish doctors of Havana to see me. 
They used to call every day to see Lavinia, so long as she 
lived, but not one of them could do any more than Uncle 
Doctor. We heard of an old Spaniard, who resided at a place 
called St. Juan, on the Island of Porto Rico, who was famed 
for a tonic, which, it was said, would cure consumption. Uncle 
Doctor went to Porto Rico, and purchased the medicine for 
me. It was after Lavinia' s death. I know how much we 
regretted that we had not heard of it sooner, as it seemed to 
be restoring me by magic. I became fleshy, and my face 
reddened like any one's in perfect health ; but the medicine 
was very deceptive. It seemed to puff me up, and give my 
face a healthful glow that did not last. I showed it to Dr. 
Graustalla one day, the old Spanish physician who attended 
Lavinia, and he very deliberately stepped to the balcony, and 
dashed bottle and all into the street. As he came in again, 
he frowned, and said, “Toxicum, toxicum, take no more; kill 
you ; toxicum me tell your Oncle give dat no more ; toxicum." 
He could not speak our language very well, but Ivanora 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


121 


gave him lessons for amusement, and before we left the 
Island he could speak English passably well. He was very 
candid, and one day when he examined my chest, I said, 
u Doctor, what do you hear in there ?” — He says, “I hear 
consumption in dar, and I see it in your shiny black eyes.” — 
For what Ivanora taught him, he presented her with about 
two hundred dollars’ worth of hot-house plants, some of the 
most magnificent shrubs I ever saw. They have been shipped 
to Mobile, and are to be sent to Manville Hall before long/ 
continued Emily; ‘and Ivanora remarked to him, that her 
grandfather lived in a cold climate, and she would lose most of 
them, she feared ; and as Green Haven is in a warmer latitude, 
I proposed to Ivanora to let me take some of the most delicate of 
them, to which she readily consented. As I left the parlor, I 
heard him tell Ivanora that I had one flower to carry home 
that would soon wither in any climate. 11 What flower is 
that?” asked she. — He said, “He hactic ross.” He meant 
the “ hectic rose.”— It really blooms on my cheeks daily. I 
have been sitting with my veil over my face every evening 
for weeks. You thought I did it on account of my eyes, but, 
to confess the truth, I did it to conceal the hectic flush. Is it 
not strange, that although we know that we have the consump- 
tion, and that it is incurable, still there lurks an antipathy 
towards owning it, or thinking that it is so ? I have been 
gasping for breath many a time, and punished myself by 
taking syrups and other things, fearing that the family would 
find it out.’ — Miss Emily remained at home till the May fol- 
lowing. Sometimes she was pretty well, and then ill for a 
week. In May she was no better, and she proposed to Hr. 
Finlay to carry her up to Manville Hall. He complied, and 
Miss Julia went with her. Julia stayed there till Emily was 
thought to be much better. She told me that Emily was 
going about the Hall with Ivanora, and riding out with her 
cousin, Arthur Manville, who was visiting his father, with his 
family ; and that her old uncle thought the mountain air more 

11 


122 


LOUISE ELTON; 


salubrious and better for Emily, than the warm, humid atmo- 
sphere of Green Haven, or the scorching sun of the West 
Indies ; but ‘ the ways of Providence are inscrutable and 
beyond the ken of frail mortality/ Emily was a corpse not 
long after Julia left her. Julia was ten days on the road from 
Manville Hall. When she got home, Colonel Manville was 

preparing to go to the convent of for Kate. She had been 

there about three months. Miss Emily would have Kate sent 
to the convent, she was so partial to the Catholics ; and the 
small-pox had broken out there, and was prevailing to a great 
extent. He got Kate away from there, however; and about 
the time they reached Green Haven, the fever commenced its 
ravages. Emily left home in May, and Julia left her appa- 
rently better about the latter part of J uly, I think the 25th, 
and Emily died the last day of August. Colonel Manville 
was low with the fever, so low that Dr. Finlay deemed it 
unadvisable to inform him of Emily’s death. I told you how 
unsuccessful the physicians were with the servants, and that 
poor Julia caught the fever, and died the 1st of October. They 
put Miss Emily in the old family burying-ground at Manville 
Hall, and she was removed hither the winter after her death. 
She sleeps on one side of that load of granite in the garden. 
You read her pretty name, along with Colonel Manville’ s other 
children, the first night you came here.” — “ Yes,” said I, “ and 
they are a saddening yet interesting group to me, and I feel 
deeply interested in that mysterious woman you call ‘ Ivanora.’ ” 
I never had heard of a family of women before in whom there 
was such a combination of goodness, gentleness, sadness, mis- 
fortune, intellectual accomplishments, personal beauty, and 
mystery, as there seemed to be in the character of Ivanora, 
and to have also belonged to the deceased cousins, Emily, 
Lavinia, and Julia. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


123 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Two weeks had already run out, at G-reen Haven, and my 
brother had not returned, and Miss Morris was almost ready to 
take the hymeneal vow. I had begun to instruct Lizette and 
Ada; for I concluded that as circumstances beyond my control 
had thrown me there, and that as I had engaged to take charge 
of the girls, I proposed to Mrs. Manville, that in order to become 
familiar with them, and to afford them an opportunity to become 
acquainted with me, that I would begin the following day; I 
did so, and on the same evening, I received a letter from Alva, 
by a private conveyance, assuring me that he was doing well; 
that he was forty-five miles from Green Haven, stopping with 
his old friends, the Roffs and Uppertons, and rioting in the 
smiles of the beautiful Floretta, and waiting the return of Mr. 
Lampton from Mobile, where he had been compelled to go to 
get funds to liquidate the long-unpaid debt. I found too, that 
Mrs. Manville was anxious to retain me, as she was afraid 
of losing the opportunity of sending Lizette and Ada away; her 
heart was so fully set on her contemplated visit to the gay city 
of , that she had no idea of letting me go. Colonel Man- 

ville seemed to be satisfied with me, as a governess, for he was 
about the library sometimes, and questioned me a good deal,; he 
at all times appeared satisfied with my answers, and told me 
that he wished me to keep Lizette and Ada four years at their 
books; then he intended to send them to the convent, to learn 
needle-work, painting, music, wax and shell-work, and that all 
of his daughters, who completed this education, had gone one 

or two years to the convent of . On the fourth evening 

after I had commenced instructing Lizette and Ada, Mrs. Man- 
ville requested me to come into her room. When I entered 
the chamber, she was lying upon the sofa, quite indisposed in 
body and mind. There sat Lizette and Ada, on one side of the 
hearth, and two negro girls, on the opposite side all knitting. 


124 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


u Sit down. Miss Elton,” said she, “ and don’t be offended when 
I tell you that I am deeply mortified, to learn from Lizette and 
Ada, that you have neglected to make them say their prayers 
to you. It is my rule to hear their prayers at night, and I 
wish you to begin school with prayer every morning, and then 
make them kneel by you and repeat the Lord’s Prayer. It is 
essential to their immortal souls, and I am astonished that you 
should attach so little importance to a matter of such magnitude 
as this.” — “ Mrs. Manville,” said I, “ my course of instruction 
has not commenced regularly. I have just been practising 
Lizette and Ada in a few spelling, reading, writing, and gram- 
mar lessons, more for pastime than anything else, and to inquire 
into their dispositions, and enable them to become acquainted 
with me. You talk a great deal about teaching them Chris- 
tianity and forcing them to pray, but let me tell you at once, 
I do not know how to teach religion to children, and as to 
forcing them to pray, I do not intend to do any such thing.” — 
“Well, Miss Elton,” she said, “as you are a young lady, 
you ought not to say such things; you ought to set them 
a pious example, and appear religious whether you really 
are so or not; and I think you have committed a great 
sin, by not making Lizette and Ada say prayers to you. A 
child’s religious education ought to be the first thing attended 
to. It is my rule to cultivate the moral soil first, and then 
transplant flowers into the intellectual garden.” — “ Well, it is 
very strange,” said I, “ that as you have been so careful to make 
them pray, that they should need forcing after being under 
your supervision so long, and hearing so much of God and the 
gospel.” — “Well, you know that some children always require 
some one to make them do right,” said she. — “ That may be 
correct,” said I; “but, madam, let me understand you, what 
system of religion do you wish me to indoctrinate into the minds 
and hearts of these little girls ; for my own part, I have got no 
religion, but if you wish any system of religion imprinted upon 
them, you must tell me which it is, and then I can understand 
you, though I did not know that it is obligatory upon me, as 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


125 


their governess, to teach them religion, as I shall feel bound to 
teach the theory of grammar or geography.” — “Miss,” she 
said, “ I am so much interested for them, that you must, indeed, 
give me your views upon Christianity, and if I think you are 
correct, I wijl be satisfied, if not, you must change your doc- 
trine, or be guided by me.” — “Oh,” said I, “if you talk about 
Christianity, I can promise to teach them what the whole civi- 
lized world calls Christianity; but Christianity and religion 
are two things ; and so far as an argument for the sake of 
edification shall go, by way of interesting each other, I have no 
objection to it, but if my engagement as a governess depends 
on the nature of my religious belief, it must be broken, and 
I shall not go a step towards Manville Hall ; and I will inform 
your husband immediately of my determination. I have told 
you once before that I would not force children to prayer, and 
that I had not been employed to teach them religion.” — 
“Then,” said she, “give me your views upon Christianity ; 
tell me what you believe in, and to what church your family 
belong, then I shall be better satisfied, for the more you see 
of me, the more you will be convinced that I am extremely 
particular about the Bible and religion. I am sure, Miss 
Elton, that you are not ashamed of the religion of your family !” 
“This,” said I, “is what I have been taught, and that which 
I verily believe ; I hope also to see the day, that I may prac- 
tise what the theory of Christianity teaches, because Chris- 
tianity itself is the religion of all who acknowledge Jesus Christ 
as the Son of God, and receive the Holy Scriptures as His 
word. 

“My greatest desire has ever been to know what were 
the forms, &c., of the primitive church of Christ on earth. 
Upon a diligent search after them, I find that the Church of 
Christ was first planted upon this earth in the city of Jerusa- 
lem, on the day of Pentecost, when the Holy Ghost came down 
from Heaven. We all know that the first church at Jerusalem 
is the mother of all churches. We know that the beauty and 

11 * 


126 


LOUISE ELTON; 


perfection of this church has long since been shamefully ob- 
scured, and has almost faded from the earth. I then sought 
for the most correct likeness or portrait of this church on earth, 
after I examined the one drawn and painted by the apostles 
themselves, on the day of Pentecost. This one is described in the 
second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, and has hung so long 
in the grand halls of the earth, that I believed I could find its 
correct likeness as painted from the original, by those who lived 
after the inspired painters had gone to Heaven. You may ask 
me, If I see the correct portrait suspended by the thread of 
inspiration in Nature’s great hall, why I wish to gaze upon one 
drawn from the original ? I will tell you. The votaries of 
pagan philosophy have drawn and painted likenesses of the 
true Church, but they have dressed them in colors and garments 
which Christ and his Apostles never wore. The style of gar- 
ment which they have painted upon the true Church of Christ 
is false, and not like the primitive garments at all. For illus- 
tration, now, I will use this argument : A lady comes to you, 
Mrs. Manville, and says, 1 Madam, I have understood that 
you have an exact pattern of one of the dresses worn in the 
days of Queen Elizabeth, of England V You reply, < 1 have 
one cut and made according to the Elizabethan style.’ The 
lady borrows the same of yourself, carries it home, cuts and 
makes one by it precisely. She steps out upon the fashionable 
arena, and all eyes are cast towards her. A lady comes to her 
saying, ‘ Madam, by whose pattern did you cut your dress V 
She replies, ‘ Mrs. Manville gave me the pattern of one she 
has cut and made according to the dresses of Queen Elizabeth.’ 
1 Indeed, my friend?’ replies the lady, ‘you are certainly 
behind the times. Queen Elizabeth never wore nor sanctioned 
such an unbecoming, abominably fitting gown as yours. The 
dresses in the days of Elizabeth, were made with long waists 
and flounced to the knees. Your dress is very short in the 
waist, and the skirt is not flounced.’ You immediately ask 
her for her authority, in pronouncing your habiliments so to- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


127 


tally unlike the pattern of Queen Elizabeth. She will say 
directly, 1 Because I know the dress by which your own was 
cut, is of too modern a date. Your pattern came from some 
little village, and it is an imposition ; but go to the city of 
London, where I have been, and there you will discover that 
the wardrobe of Elizabeth contains no such cut dress as the one 
you have on/ What is the next thing to be done ? Do you 
not then endeavor to ascertain whether this lady, who has con- 
demned the cut of your gown, is a woman of truth, and whether 
her word would be taken as to her seeing the wardrobe of 
Elizabeth ? Certainly you would. You begin, then, to scold 
and censure the person who has imposed an unfashionable gar- 
ment upon you ) you cast it from you, because an individual, 
in whom you have confidence, has assured you that you are not 
dressed agreeably to the Elizabethan fashion, and that an im- 
postor, to make money, or to gain a little celebrity perhaps as 
a leader of fashion, has arrayed you in garments unbecoming, 
and unfit for the season. Presently you meet an individual 
who has also seen the wardrobe of Queen Elizabeth, and you 
have on a dress made according to the advice of your friend, 
who condemned your short waist and plain skirt. The latter 
person says, ‘ Your apparel very much reminds me of that 
which I have seen in the wardrobe of Queen Elizabeth/ You 
are then gratified to learn that a second person has advised you, 
has told you what is true. You continue to wear the latter 
dress, because the fact of its being of the Elizabethan style has 
been established by the word of one who has seen and examined 
the wardrobe of the great British Queen. It is just so with 
the garments of the true Church of Christ. Impostors have 
cut and altered, and ruffled, and flounced, and pointed, curved, 
scolloped, and fluted them, till it is a difficult matter, at the 
present day, to find out who cut the truest pattern of the habili- 
ments with which the body of Christ's Church was clothed, or 
how we are to wear them ; whether we should put bonnets upon 
our feet, and shoes upon our heads, or whether we should have 


128 


LOUISE ELTON; 


gowns with long waists and loose sleeves, or loose gowns with 
tight sleeves. The impostors of the primitive Church heaped 
upon its body all of the absurd fashions. This is the reason 
why the Roman Catholic Church is not adorned according to 
the true cut of the garments of Christ's Church. In one age 
of the world she permitted the pagan philosophers to come into 
her tabernacle, and dress it as they chose. Their novelties, 
however, have nothing to do with the precepts and pure doc- 
trines of the religion of Christ. The grand charter of the 
liberties of the people of these United States, is the Constitu- 
tion. Who made it ? — The very wisest and truest of patriots. 
What caused them to make it ? — For the sake of argument, I 
say these patriots were inspired by the Genius of Liberty. They 
proceeded and made a Constitution, under which all nations of 
the earth may gather, prosper and be happy. 'Tis a guide, a 
luminary, a glittering sconce, as it were, suspended in the grand 
arena of the universe, — a standard by which all nations of the 
earth may regulate their government. The Apostles were in- 
spired by the principles of Christ. They drew the great Chris- 
tian Constitution on the day of Pentecost ; but grievous to say, 
many, ay, many foreign sects, like the Gnostics, the Ammo- 
nians, and the Platonizing Christians, have crept into the 
charter-house, have engrafted upon its pure stock novelties, 
polytheistic tenets, and all those irrationalities calculated to 
corrupt and poison the minds of those who seek for the genuine 
flower, and wholesome fruit of the tree. Did not Alexander 
Hamilton attempt to incorporate monarchical institutions in the 
grand charter of our liberties ? Hamilton was a great man, 
and perhaps a good man. He was loved and reverenced both 
as a statesman and a financier; he was a Treasurer of the 
United States once; he was a Major-General in the American 
army ; he was a talented lawyer, and possessed the confidence 
of General Washington. Hamilton, however, was in favor 
of monarchical institutions, in a certain degree, and offered 
to insert the same in the Constitution; they were rejected, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


129 


and the instrument guarded and nurtured with so much 
care that it still remains pure. We see that Hamilton was 
wrong ; that had he been permitted to insert his notions, 
some other individual of acknowledged talents might have 
come in with other principles, and corrupted the design of the 
true workers of liberty. Thus far we have the parallel. 
The Church has been established, and the Constitution has 
also been established. After a while, it becomes necessary to 
make State Constitutions, because people multiply, and so vast 
a population gathers as has accumulated within our Federal 
boundary, and it becomes necessary to form separate sovereign- 
ties. A multitude, in a religious point of view, might say, we 
are going to emigrate from Jerusalem, Antioch, Alexandria, 
Geneva, or London, and how happy we are to be the disciples 
of that great and pure charter, drawn and established by the 
Apostles, who were inspired by Christ. We are moving from 
the cities where the pure doctrines of Christ have been taught 
to us; its precepts are infallible; no sect can corrupt them. 
We carry them in our hearts, though we travel to the margin 
of the Universe, and we establish them wherever we go. As 
the population of the United States becomes so dense, people, 
incited by enterprise and industry, have formed many new 
States. Necessity compels them to do it, and for the sake of 
order, 1 one of Heaven’s first laws/ it should be done. They 
are disciples of the true Constitution; they are virtuous, law- 
abiding citizens ; but would it not be the height of inconsis- 
tency in them to attempt to justify every little matter by the 
general Constitution of the country? No, indeed, madam; 
they have the principles of the primitive charter within their 
hearts, and are themselves capable of establishing a govern- 
ment, founded upon these grand principles, which all the 
world cannot destroy. Suppose, however, that an individual 

should tell you, that, in the State of , the people tolerate 

negro-stealing. 1 Tolerate negro-stealing !’ you stare and ex- 
claim, i that is a wicked and grievous thing. The Constitution 


130 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


of our country guarantees the right to certain individuals to 
own slaves if they choose, and is it possible that a sister State 
can tolerate such a vile sin against the great charter of our 
liberties P It is, indeed, true, says your informant. A third 
person, listening to your friend and yourself, will say, ‘ If that 
is the case, I will go out of the United States; for I will reside 
amongst no set of people who tolerate stealing. Surely there 
is some great fault in your grand charter : I cannot live under 
it, — ’tis imposture/ Would you not then endeavor to show 
the latter individual that he is mistaken ; that although there 
may be ten thousand thieves in every State, they do not draw 
their roguish propensity from the doctrines of the Constitution ; 
that the government of the States and the general government 
are founded upon the purest of principles ; that these thieves 
are impostors, and come upon your effects during the night, 
and that there is a law sanctioned by your government to 
punish them, and that you need not be afraid to remain under 
the Constitution of the United States, as the bad conduct of 
some cannot affect its purity. Then you might ask him, What 
harm can a set of thieves do to your government? I will say 
they may bring reproach upon us from foreigners, who may not 
understand the case. Still, it does not injure the purity of the 
Constitution of our country. A son may leave his father’s 
home, where the doctrines of morality have been taught him 
from his boyhood ; his parents are people of genuine principles ; 
virtue has been the leading feature in the domestic code, under 
which he has been brought up. He commits a wilful murder 
after he leaves his natal home ; but does that affect the true 
character of his parents ? It, of course, casts upon them a re- 
proach from society, but still their principles are uncontami- 
nated. All that the Pagan philosophers have done is to bring 
reproach upon the true Church of Christ. They have never de- 
tracted one iota from its purity. What had the cruelties of the 
Inquisition to do with the purity of the principles of our Ro- 
man Catholic brethren ? The Inquisition was a State institu- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


131 


tion, and although its horrors were practised by those who were 
Catholic rulers, their wickedness could not truthfully he a 
reproach upon the religious principles of the Catholic Church, 
no more than the murderous character of the son can be as- 
cribed to the parents, whose domestic charter contains no such 
precept. How far did the persecution and injustice of the Star- 
chamber affect the pure doctrines of Christ’s Church in Eng- 
land? Was not the Star-chamber a State institution? and 
although, like the murderer, it brought reproach upon the Pro- 
testant Christians, what effect had it upon those pure doctrines 
and precepts of Christ and his Apostles, which were established 
according to the Constitution of England ? So you see that 
those rays of Christianity which diverged from Jerusalem, may 
be collected into a burning mirror in every portion of the wide, 
wide earth, and shine with the same soft, bright lustre with 
which they shone, when, at the great emporium of Chris- 
tianity, where these words were so beautifully and brilliantly 
gilded by their beams, ‘The law went out of Zion, and the 
word of the Lord from Jerusalem/ 

“ The Pagans introduced the fashion of celibacy of priests, 
purgatory, monastic seclusion, mortifications, and penances. 
Neither Christ nor his Apostles had such vain trimmings upon 
the garments of the visible church they left upon earth. I 
sought a great while for the true pattern, and found that the 
Roman Catholics had a very ancient one ; but it was decorated 
with too many vain and unbecoming appendages. Then I ex- 
amined the pattern cut by the Greek Church. This came 
nearer to the original garments of Jerusalem than any other; 
and, grievous to say, this one, too, was threadbare, and had 
been handled and abused, till almost every trace of its once 
delicate and beautiful paint had faded, and scarcely the out- 
lines of its attractions were visible. By diligently looking 
upon the tattered robe, comparing and fitting it to the original 
pattern, I found that it more closely resembled the garments 
of the Jerusalem Church than those cut, in years after, by the 


132 


LOUISE ELTON; 


ambitious gentlemen-mantuamakers of Rome. Well, when I 
found the oldest pattern of Christ’s garments, they had been so 
greatly mutilated that I could not tell exactly how to fasten 
them when I put them on ; I could not tell whether they used 
to be tied, hooked, sewed, or buttoned on. I wanted to wear 
them according to the fashion of the Apostle’s time, as near as 
possible. All the loops had been cut off ; the sashes had been 
spliced and clipped; the buttons had been cut from some parts 
of them and tacked in other places; sometimes the flounces had 
been ripped off, and abominably botched upon other ends of 
the robe, and some had even been so vile as to cut off the whole 
waist from the skirt. I thought I would not be discouraged; 
for about that time, I learned that ‘ The promise of divine pro- 
tection, and indefectible subsistence, is not made to any parti- 
cular church or churches, but to the Church of Christ in general ; 
and as the seven churches of Asia have, for a long time, almost 
wholly disappeared, and the glory of the Greek Church has for 
ages been wretchedly obscured, so may any church or churches, 
however flourishing now, be equally obscured, and, sooner or 
later, even wholly extinguished and forgotten. ( I know that in 
the New Testament Christ and his Apostles have given us a 
genuine system of medicine for the soul. Still, the manner in 
which they designed this medicine to be administered has been 
abused by the impositions of those empirics, who, to acquire a 
little worldly glory, have envenomed the pure medicine for the 
soul with their charlatanical experiments. You ask, Who, then, 
is a true disciple of the medical academy of Christ? and I an- 
swer you, the -bishops, priests, and deacons of the Episcopal 
Church. These have taken the true medicine of Christ; ex- 
punged all the poisonous matter with which empiricism has 
injured it, and administer truth to the soul, and it has the 
effect that Christ and the Apostles desired it to have. Again, 
you ask me, perhaps, if all those die who are poisoned by the 
experimenting physician. Many of them have died without 
having an opportunity to taste the antidote which destroys the 
poison. Human nature is frail ; and where persons have died 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 133 

who have been secretly poisoned by an impostor, the Great 
Physician of souls will, on the last day, heal that body, and 
inspire it with freshness, vigor, and unfading health and 
strength. The death by poison will be charged against the 
false doctor, and he will be held accountable to the Great Prac- 
titioner of Heaven. Others, who do not die from this bane, 
may be kept sick and feeble a great while ; still, the remedy, 
when applied according to the theory of Christ, never fails to 
effect a cure. Its actions are immutable and cannot be mistaken, 
if it is administered without deterioration, and without the ad- 
mixture of extraneous drugs with the purer remedies prescribed 
in the code of Christ and the Apostles. The genuine principles 
of Christ’s Church will always remain in the world, and accord- 
ing to my view, Madam, the Episcopal Church practises these 
principles. She has sailed along the stream, which burst 
forth in Jerusalem, and although her frail bark, many a time, 
has been cast upon a barren shore, chased by the galley of a 
Nero, Domitian, a Porphyry, a Philostratus, and a Mahomet, — 
rocked upon the tempestuous waves of the deep ocean, en- 
veloped in thick, black clouds, and often boarded by the 
bloodthirsty corsair, and almost all the trembling crew mur- 
dered, still a providential hand has been over it. The 
wings of the Almighty have hovered around it during its gloom' 
and danger, and the light bark has been moored in the haven 
of safety, where it now lies, in the crystal waves, unharmed 
by the rude storms that have lashed its prow. I believe 
that the creed, commonly called the Apostles’ Creed, is of the 
highest authority, and greatest antiquity. I believe that the 
earliest Christians regarded it as a compendium of the Gospel, 
and the epitome of Holy Writ; and that they considered it 
equal with the Scriptures, and used it in their refutation of 
heresies, I have not the slightest doubt. What folly it seems 
to be for sensible people to say that there is no Scriptural evi- 
dence for the Apostles’ Creed ! What an idea ! What vanity ! 
What presumption ! I believe every word in the Old and New 

12 


134 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Testament, from the beginning of Genesis to the final Amen of 
the Revelation. I confess I have never seen an inconsistency 
in the book. I have many inconsistencies in my own organi- 
zation; but none are visible to me in God's Word. And there 
are many things written by the elder orthodox fathers of the 
Christian Church to which the world object. These were unin- 
spired men ; but when they wrote in accordance with the truths 
of Holy Writ, what right have I to contradict them ? When 
I read the writings of Clemens Romanus, and he says that 
( the creed, commonly called the Apostle’s Creed, is of high 
authority, and great antiquity ‘ that the apostles, having re- 
ceived the gift of tongues, while they were together, by joint 
consent, composed that creed, which the church of the faithful 
now holds ;’ what right have I to disbelieve what Clemens Ro- 
manus has written, when the most learned antiquarians admit 
that Clemens Romanus was contemporary with the Apostle 
Paul, that he was a man of piety and wisdom, and that as there 
were not as many schismatics in the true Church at that day 
and time, that there were also fewer impostors, and not so 
many questions at issue, what motive could Clemens have in 
raising such a falsehood ? The first and greatest cause of a 
division in the Church was not until the seat of the Roman 
Empire had been moved to Constantinople. ’Tis true that the 
Church of Christ had suffered persecution ever since he as- 
cended to Heaven, until the downfall of Pagan persecution in 
Constantine’s day. And such fathers as Clemens Romanus 
wrote and argued not to destroy the Word of God, but to sub- 
stantiate it, to preserve it pure and immaculate ; and all that 
the elder fathers of the Church have written, which goes to sus- 
tain Christianity, and which corroborates the narratives of the 
Word, I believe and receive. If a father of the Church should 
say that he saw the Apostle Paul feed himself with a wooden 
spoon, but because Paul has not mentioned the same in any of 
his writings and sayings, am I to chronicle that father as a 
liar, because he has said that he saw Paul feed himself with a 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


135 


wooden spoon, and Paul has said nothing about it ? A lady of 
acknowledged veracity, Madam, shall address a letter to you, 
from the city of Charleston, South Carolina, and inform you 
that it is fashionable, in that great emporium, for women to 
wear their husband’s pantaloons. Another lady addresses a 
letter to you upon the subject of fashion, who is, perhaps, in a 
lower circle than the first writer, still she is a woman of unim- 
peachable veracity j she says a great deal about forms, manners, 
fashions, &c., &c., admits that there are some singularities 
sanctioned by the elite , but does not mention the fact that the 
women wear their husband’s pantaloons, would you call her a 
false writer, and declare that she is an impostor, and an un- 
truthful woman, because she has written some things that your 
first correspondent did not think to name, and because she has 
not mentioned some things which were named in the letters of 
your first correspondent ?” 

“You admit, then,” said Mrs. Manville, after listening 
attentively to me, “ that the Church of Rome might have had 
Christians in it, and may have to this day ?” — u Certainly I 
do,” I replied. — “ I do not,” said she ; “ and I believe it will 
be blotted out entirely, and your Church will go with it.” — 
“ As to your belief upon that subject,” said I to her, “ I can- 
not attach much importance to it. I believe that the time 
will come when the Roman Catholic Church will be purged of 
those trivial abuses which the philosophers of Paganism intro- 
duced into her, which have corrupted the purity with which she 
was at first endowed.” — “ I have always been informed, Miss 
Elton,” continued she, “ that you Episcopalians never had a 
Church till the days of Henry VIII., and it is amusing to me 
' to see you attempt to trace the ancestry of your Church to the 
first Church at Jerusalem, when I know that Henry VIII. 
made your Church ; that if he had not fallen in love with 
Anne Boleyn, your Church would never have been heard of.” 
— “ Indeed, Madam,” said I ; “ you are mistaken ; and I see 
that you have imbibed those educational prejudices which a 


136 


LOUISE ELTON; 


great portion of the civilized world entertain relative to the 
Episcopal Church, which you all think had its origin with 
Henry VIII. Now, Mrs. Manville, you recollect that I started 
with the Church, as a little bark that came sailing over the 
stream which flowed out of Jerusalem; that it floated along 
to Syria and Greece, and thence to Rome ; and although it 
had been persecuted from the time of the ascension of Christ, 
its pure principles remained untarnished. It glided along, 
despite of all those pernicious tenets which were tacked to its 
spotless garments by those who brought reproach upon the true 
Church. It was, however, steered to the port of Rome. 
After the removal of the seat of the Roman empire to Constan- 
tinople, the Church was liberated from the cruelties and oppres- 
sions under which she had groaned since the Christian faith 
was established at Jerusalem. Splendor, opulence, and 
worldly grandeur were its concomitants. After awhile envy 
and slander arose between the two great emporiums (Rome 
and Constantinople), which again disgraced the votaries of the 
Church. In the first ages of Christianity, all of its ministers 
possessed an equality of office. The terms bishop, elder, and 
minister, are used in the New Testament interchangeably, 
referring to the same office, with the same rights and duties 
in the Church. A number of churches, within certain conve- 
nient limits, usually united together, for their mutual benefit, 
for additional strength, and for the proper maintenance of 
gospel order, which would naturally become an established 
ecclesiastical body. By degrees this distinction was claimed 
as a matter of right, and, with more or less reluctance, was 
acceded to by the other pastors and churches. This led to an 
establishment of bishops as a superior order of clergy in the 
Church. This order was modelled after the plan of the 
Apostle Paul, who ordained Timothy, the first bishop of the 
Church of the Ephesians. The rank and superiority of this 
order of clergy is lucidly expounded by Paul in his first 
epistle to Timothy, third chapter. Upon the same principle 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 137 

that the clergy of the provincial towns acquired a superiority 
over their brethren in the vicinity, the bishops of the great 
cities claimed a precedence above all others of the episcopal 
order. This led to a distinct denomination in the clerical 
office, and introduced the titles of metropolitan bishops and 
archbishops. The Christian emperors granted an additional 
authority to the bishops of Rome, Constantinople, Antioch, 
and Alexandria, who exercised a certain control over all other 
bishops and churches, and were called Patriarchs. After 
awhile the patriarch of Constantinople acquired a superiority 
over the Churches of Aptioch and Alexandria. The patriarch 
of Rome was also making rapid acquisitions of ecclesiastical 
power in the western churches. Envy thus arose between the 
prelates of Constantinople and Rome, which involved the 
churches again in all the horrors of tumult and confusion. 
The patriarch of Rome claimed to be the Universal Bishop of 
the Christian Church. The patriarch of Constantinople denied 
the supremacy of the ambitious patriarch of Rome, who had 
caused himself to be proclaimed Universal Bishop by Phocas, 
an inhuman ejnperor, who was then reigning in Rome. In the 
next age, the eastern and western Churches quarrelled about 
the worship of images. The Greek Church at first opposed 
this custom, and the Latin Church contended for it. The 
Greek Church, however, fell a victim to the same absurdity, 
but without acknowledging the title of Universal Bishop which 
was claimed by the Roman pontiff. This pontiff acquired a 
temporal jurisdiction before the patriarch of Constantinople, 
hence the declaration of the Roman Catholics, that the Church 
of Rome is the oldest Church upon earth, because their pontiff ac- 
quired a spiritual jurisdiction before any other Oriental patriarch. 
Still, the first Christian Church came out of Jerusalem, thence 
to Syria and Greece; and if ever St. Peter was at Rome at all, 
which has never been satisfactorily proven, it was not till after 
he had been Bishop of Antioch, so that the Latin Church is 
unquestionably the daughter of the Greek. The Greek 

12 * 


138 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


Church was an Episcopal Church, which has glided down the 
stream of time from Jerusalem, with this motto : ‘ The law 
went out of Zion, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem/ 
It has passed along through Asia, and Greece, and Rome. It 
was repaired by the faithful servants of righteousness in the 
wild and lonely vales of the Alps, after the Waldenses hauled 
the barge ashore, and sent adrift those corrupt things which 
had been a part of its cargo. It came on through the days of 
John Wickliffe, Huss, Jerome, Luther, Zuinglius, Melancthon, 
Calvin, and Cranmer. God’s grace was bestowed upon the 
Church of Christ upon earth long before the days of Henry 
VIII. The law from Zion had come down in the little frail 
bark till the days of Cranmer, who was a co-laborer with 
Luther. Admit that the voluptuousness of Henry VIII. 
caused him to abrogate the authority of the Pope of Rome in 
the English realm, and that Henry was once a Roman Catholic, 
and always a vile, base character ; but what has that to do 
with the purity of that law which came out of Zion, and that 
word of God from J erusalem ? The Church had so long been 
stript of her modest and becoming garments, and clothed 
according to the pattern of worldly votaries, that Luther and 
others determined to follow the absurd fashion no longer. 
They compared the picture of the Latin Church with that 
portrait painted by the Apostles on the day of Pentecost. The 
features bore, to the primitive Church, a striking likeness, but 
the garments with which the Roman pontiff had adorned it 
were of altogether a different style. 

“ Henry VIII. suppressed the authority of Clement VII. in 
England, and assumed the title of ‘Head of the Church;’ this 
title was sanctioned by the nation ; then the Archbishop of 
Canterbury annulled the first marriage of Henry with Cathe- 
rine of Spain. After this, the English people acquired license 
to establish the fashion in apparel which was worn at the time 
that the Apostles were at Jerusalem. I admit that the love of 
Henry for Anna Roleyn incited him to abrogate the Pope’s 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 139 

authority • hut might not Henry for an age have longed for an 
opportunity to order this dictatorial Pontiff to practise no more 
imposition within the realm of England ? Let us do him jus- 
tice : although there are many dark spots upon his moral es- 
cutcheon, still, his vices never corrupted the principles of the 
true Church. What a delicious morsel it has ever been to the 
ignorant, to say that the Episcopal Church was made by so vile 
a wretch as Henry VIII. It is a mistake. The abrogation of the 
Pope’s authority by Henry, enabled the workers of righteous- 
ness to plant the Christian faith in England. The Protestant 
Episcopal Church of England is built upon the law of Zion. 
After the suppression of the authority of Clement VII. in Eng- 
land, they began to look for the genuine pattern of the gar- 
ments of Christ. The clothing cut and made in Rome did not 
fit it ; Luther cut a pattern, so did Calvin, Zuinglius, and Me- 
lancthon. They followed the original dress of the Jerusalem 
Church tolerably well, but the beauty, accuracy, and well-pro- 
portioned habiliments were never so exactly cut and fitted till 
the martyrs and confessors, together with the learned bishops 
and divines of England, threw aside the foreign costume with 
which the Pontiff of Rome had dressed it, and built the Church 
of England. What are the names of the true robes ? Sup- 
plications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks for all 
men. Our litany is a supplication. It is one of the most an- 
tiquated forms of worship upon the earth. Henry VIII. had 
no more to do with making it, than you or I, for St. Chrysos- 
tom, who was a native of Antioch, and who was consecrated 
bishop of Constantinople in the year 398, derives the custom of 
using litanies from the primitive Christians when the priest 
began and uttered by the Spirit some things fit to be prayed for, 
and the people joined the intercession, saying, 1 We beseech 
thee to hear us, good Lord/ When the miraculous gifts of 
the Spirit began to cease, they wrote down several of these 
forms, which were the original of our present litanies. St. 
Ambrose, who died in 397, has left us one, which agrees in many 


140 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


particulars with that of our own Church. About the year 600, 
Gregory the Great, from all the litanies extant composed the 
famous sevenfold litany, by which Rome, it is said, was delivered 
of a grievous mortality. This has served as a pattern to all 
the western churches since ; and to it ours of the Church of 
England comes nearer than that of the Romish Missal ; in 
which later Popes have inserted the invocations of saints, which 
our reformers properly expunged. Henry VIII. had nothing to 
do with our litany. One of the chief corner-stones of the 
Episcopal Church is the Apostles' Creed. Clemens Romanus 
declares that this creed is of f great antiquity and high au- 
thority ; that it may be proven from the unanimous testimony 
of antiquity in the writings of the fathers/ whose works cor- 
roborate and are co-extensive with the writings of the Apos- 
tles. Did Henry VIII. unite with the Apostles, when ‘ by joint 
consent they composed that creed, which the church of the 
faithful now holds V This was done before Henry's day. The 
Episcopalians acknowledge ‘that the Lord Jesus Christ, the 
true eternal Son of God, is the only Saviour of the world, in 
whom alone all the mercies, grace, and promises of God to man- 
kind, for this life and the life to come, are fully and wholly 
comprised.' Has Henry VIII. put this language into the mouth 
of the Church ? Did Henry compose the liturgy of the Church 
of England ? I should say not. When the liturgy was com- 
piled by others, and approved by Henry, and the same intro- 
duced for the strength and sustenance of the Church of Christ, 
after it was established in England, how can any one say that 
Henry made the Episcopal Church ? There might have been 
ten thousand formularies compiled and sanctioned by Henry, 
without his having laid the plan of one of them. Suppose a 
physician should come to you when you are ill, and administer 
to you a specific medicine ; Colonel Manville is head of the 
house ; he shall approve of the medicine, and also the manner 
in which your physician has administered the same to you ; for 
argument's sake, say that you have been in the habit of taking 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


141 


this medicine in ice-water, but your physician assures you that 
your life has been hazarded in the cold water experiment, 
and that you should have taken it mixed with wine and oil. 
Colonel Manville declares that he believes your physician to be 
correct, for the doctor has produced a recipe from the most 
learned of the medical college, who sustain him in his practice. 
His administration of it cures you, and your husband proclaims 
that the same specific shall never he given to any member of 
his family, unless it is mixed with wine and oil. After awhile 
an enemy may come to see you, who, perchance, may hear Co- 
lonel Manville declaim against one system, and applaud the 
other. This individual is, perhaps, anxious to construct a theory 
of his own, and envious too, because Colonel Manville has in- 
corporated the more genuine principles of the orthodox college 
into his medical formulary. He goes away misrepresenting 
your husband, and calls him the founder of the system of 
Physic. Would you not call this person an ignorant, envious, 
slanderer ? You see now, Madam, how clearly the fact can be 
established, that poor old Henry VIII. did not make the Epis- 
copal Church. He only abrogated that power which prevented 
the growth of the faith, once delivered to the saints,” — -just as 
the Judiciary of the United States would repeal a law which 
sustained measures dangerous to Ihe liberties of the people. 
And further, for the sake of illustration, suppose we take an 
emigrant who goes forth into a new country, and with the aid 
of the inhabitants he hews down forests, levels mountains, and 
drains marshy lakes and pools of stagnant water. After this 
is done, the architect and horticulturist go to work and build 
houses, lay out grounds, and in time rear towns and cities. A 
stranger after awhile comes along, and says to the people, 

‘ Your houses, grounds, towns and cities, look very attractive; 
who amongst you constructed them V A person may say, ( My 
father built this house, but he drew the plan of it by the 
pattern of my grandfather's house, built many years ago in 
England.' You surely would not say that the plan of house- 


142 


LOUISE ELTON; 


building originated with the person who has constructed a house 
according to the pattern he brought from his father’s house in 
England ? The genuine pattern of the Christian Church came 
from Jerusalem. Its model got to England, and after the fero- 
cious thorns of popery were lopped off of it, it began to grow, 
blossom, and bear fruit. This pattern has also been brought 
to America ; the fabric has been built ; it was modelled after the 
English Church, and the English is modelled after the Church 
at Jerusalem.” — “ Indeed, Miss Elton,” said Mrs. Manville, 
“ I have all my life known that your Church was made by an 
Act of the British Parliament, and in England there is a union 
of church and state.” — “Very well,” said I, “ the king, arch- 
bishops and bishops of England, live under a monarchical go- 
vernment ; the Church of Christ, in Great Britain, is established 
there, and protected by a monarchical government. In the 
United States of America it is established according to the 
constitution of a republican government. I thought I had 
proved to you, my dear Madam, that, if state institutions are 
carried into effect, their principles do not injure the purity 
of the true church, and where there is a union of church and 
state, as there is in some countries, and this union is legalized 
by those in power, it has nothing to do with the genuineness of 
the church’s principles. Ambitious people will do such things, 
where there is a nobility and legalized aristocracy. It is not 
the case in this country, however, for here the people are sove- 
reigns, and rule both church and state. It is the true medi- 
cine of the soul that I contend for, which, if taken according to 
the directions of the great Doctor of J erusalem, will surely have 
a healthful effect, be the patient an aristocrat, a monarch, or 
a democrat. It is a specific, and there can be no mistake in it.” 
— “Then, Miss Elton,” answered she, “you must have a great 
many quacks amongst you ?” — “ Admit that we have ; for are 
not all institutions liable to be abused ? I commenced with 
that argument when I told you that the pagan impostors intro- 
duced their novel tenets into the Church of Christ at Borne, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


143 


and that the Greek Church after awhile went astray likewise. 
We cannot help this. I wish we could. We cannot make any 
change, either, in the civil constitution of Great Britain. Your 
Doctors of Divinity are the very empirics, many of them, 
who have introduced a false practice amongst us. They grew 
tired of the ancient plan, and for the sake of glory and honor, 
they took the liberty to establish theories of their own con- 
struction. Now that you have said that the Episcopal Church 
was made by an Act of the British Parliament, permit me to 
explain some things relative to the Act, about which the anti- 
Episcopalians have framed so many wonderful stories. 

“ It was thought, in the year 1551, that the Liturgy even then 
savored too much of superstition ; on which account it was re- 
vised and improved by Bucer and Martyr, two foreign reform- 
ers. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, some further corrections 
were made, and it remained unaltered till the reign of King 
James the First, when a few small alterations were made ; thus 
it remained till the time of Charles the Second, when the whole 
book was revised. The commission for this purpose was dated 
March 25th, 1661, and empowered twelve bishops and twelve 
Presbyterian divines. The Liturgy was then brought to the state 
in which it now stands. It was unanimously subscribed to by 
both houses of Convocation on Friday, December 20th, 1661. 
An Act was passed for its establishment, and the thanks of 
the Lords ordered to the bishops and clergy for the great care 
and industry shown in their revision and improvement of it; 
and Henry VIII. had been dead a great while when the Liturgy 
was last revised and corrected.” — “ There may be a good deal 
of truth in what you have said,” replied Mrs. Manville, “and 
the amount of it is, that the primitive Christians at Borne per- 
mitted the wanton and unbecoming garments of the vain and 
worldly-minded to be used upon the body of the primitive Church. 
I must tell you, however, Miss Elton, that I do not wish you 
to teach Lizette and Ada your religion. I do not wish them 
to know anything of the Catholic religion. I abominate it. 


144 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


Colonel Manville’s eldest daughters were Catholics ; the three 
who are dead were educated entirely by the Catholics, what you 
call the Roman Catholics; they died in the belief of the tenets 
of that church. I have often told Colonel Manville to keep 
his children from everything that approximates to that mother 
of corruption and superstition. Lavinia Manville died on the 
Island of Cuba, and you do not know how I was mortified at 
their proceedings when she was dying; and Dr. Finlay dis- 
gusted me for allowing it. There they had the host carried to 
her bedside, by a Spanish priest; she was anointed with holy’ 
oil, and had a crucifix held by some one, for her to gaze upon. 
A little more than a year after this scene, Emily Manville died, 
at Manville Hall. She too, as she had lived, died, devoted to 
the religion of the Roman Church ; there she was, repeating 
the Articles of the Roman creed, worshipping the image of the 
Virgin Mary, kissing her crucifix, declaring her faith in the holi- 
ness of the Pope, and when she found that her days were num- 
bered, she requested her uncle to send for a priest : there was 
one about fifty miles off he came down in a few days ; and re- 
mained at Manville Hall till Emily died. He performed 
the sacrament of extreme unction, poured over her lifeless body 
many sacerdotal benedictions, and to sustain his delusion referred 
some women, who came to lay her out, to the 14 th and 15 th 
verses of the fifth chapter of the Apostle James.” — “ I am 
always willing to do the Roman Catholics justice,” said I; “the 
world is indebted to them for the diffusion of a great deal of 
intelligence, and for the encouragement of the arts and sciences ; 
and that there are many conscientious and truly devout people 
amongst them, nobody doubts.” — “You are just like Miss 
Morris,” said Mrs. Manville; “ raised a Protestant, but making 
all allowances for palpable errors, which you contend yourself 
were borrowed from Pagan philosophers; in shorter language, 
you are making excuses for the Roman Catholics. Miss Mor- 
ris was educated by the Catholics of Quebec, and I should not 
be surprised if you had also been educated by them. Now 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 145 

tell me if you have not.” — “ Partly,” said I. — “Very well, I 
thought so, and my opinion cannot be altered; you have im- 
bibed some of their notions; ’tis impossible to divest yourself of 
them; ’tis not so much liberality in you at all; you are pre- 
possessed in their favor, and I very much fear that you will 
tincture Lizette and Ada with your views.” — “Give yourself 
not the least uneasiness on that score, Madam. I should not 
have thought of even arguing this subject with you, if you had 
not forced it upon me. I have told you that I have no idea 
of teaching them religion; that it is none of my business. I 
trust that you are now convinced yourself; your preachers may 
teach them religion; I shall not do it, I assure you.” — “I 
should be very happy for you to attend to them on the Sabbath, 
hear them recite the Catechism and make them read the Bible; 
but I have no idea of your teaching them the religion of Henry 
Till. You would never have had a church, I repeat it, if Henry 
VIII. had not fallen in love with Anna Boleyn.” — “I deny 
the charge, Mrs. Manville,” returned I, “ I have shown you 
the origin of the Episcopal Church, and traced it to England, 
from Jerusalem. I have explained to you that Henry’s abro- 
gation of the authority of the Roman pontiff cleared the way 
for the establishment of the Episcopal Church of England. 
Its principles were, to a certain extent, promulgated by Luther 
and other reformers, before Henry annulled the pontifical 
power. Suppose you examine the principles of the Reforma- 
tion. You will surely discover that there is a striking resem- 
blance in it to the tenets and practices of the Lutheran Church. 
Luther was once a Roman Catholic, and before the Reformation, 
by this reformer, Wickliffe had the minds of the people of Eng- 
land prepared for a revolution. Before Henry VIII., Wickliffe 
had made an attack upon the doctrines of transubstantiation, 
auricular -confession, indulgences, and had translated the 
Scriptures into the English language. Wickliffe propagated 
his doctrines in England about the year 1377, in the reign of 
Richard II. You recollect that Henry IV., Henry V., Henry 

13 


146 


LOUISE ELTON; 


VI. , Edward IV., Edward V., Richard III., Henry VII., all 
had been upon the English throne between the days of Wick- 
liffe and those of Henry VIII. Why do you all not tell, that 
Luther abjured the doctrines of the Latin Church, because he 
fell in love, also ? Luther took the liberty to throw off the 
authority of Leo X., just as Henry VIII. did that of Clement 

VII. Luther wrote the book entitled the ‘ Babylonish Cap- 
tivity/ and applied all of those scriptural attributes of the un- 
chastity of Babylon to the Latin Church. He committed the 
Roman pontiff's edicts to the flames, advocated the universal 
abolition of mass, crushed the images of saints, razed the 
friaries to their foundations, and married a nun. I think that 
Luther, in abolishing the mass, &c. &c., was about as impu- 
dent as Henry VIII., who divorced himself from Catherine of 
Spain. Still, you would contend ‘that Luther was a subject 
of the grace of God / ‘ that the Reformation was one of the* 
greatest achievements ever accomplished by human effort, and 
that Luther was the instrument, raised of God, to accomplish 
this grand and important incident/" — “Well, Miss Elton," 
said Mrs. Manville, “ promise me that you will attend to their 
lessons in the Bible and Catechism, will you not ?" — “ No, 
Madam," said I; “Mr. Charles Manville informed me that he 
resides very near Rocky Chapel, where there is a Sabbath 
school taught, all the year; that he intended to send Lizette 
and Ada there regularly, and no doubt they will meet with ex- 
cellent teachers." — “ Rocky Chapel ! the Catholics built Rocky 
Chapel. Julia Manville used to attend the Sabbath school at 
that church," said the old lady vehemently, “ and Julia was 
the worst one amongst them ; but I outdid her at last. She 
wanted a priest sent for, when she came to die ; now the idea 
of a priest coming into the house that I had built ! very clear 
'of it ! I knew what ought to be done for her, so I took away 
her beads and crucifix, and prayed for her myself, and when I 
arose from my knees, to my great astonishment, she had her 
fingers stuck in her ears, to deafen herself, and had not heard 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


147 


one word of my prayer. I attempted to compose her, but she 
called me a vile heretic, and ordered me to get out of her sight. 
Then she commenced crossing her breast, and calling on the 
blessed Virgin, to drive away evil from her couch; ‘to send 
mercy upon her, to make her chaste in heart, to preside over 
her during the shades of the night, to be with her in purgatory, 
and grant her soul the suffrage of the faithful; she prayed to 
the holy saints to mediate for her, and when full satisfaction 
was made, and the heavy debt of temporal punishment liqui- 
dated, that the gates of eternity might be opened to her by the 
glorified saints, and that she then might enter heaven/ ” — u 1 
left her, sick as I could be, at all this nonsense. I pitied her, 
and have always determined not to allow Colonel Manville' s 
other daughters to be brought up in that church.” — “ And 
this,” said I, “is what you term educational prejudice, is it? 
Really, Mrs. Manville, it seems to me, that Colonel Manville' s 
daughters must have informed themselves very thoroughly upon 
the rites, &c., of the Roman Catholic Church. It really appears 
to me as if they ‘must have acted from principle, and not from 
any educational prejudice, or sentiment, but from honest con- 
viction, and because they were conscientious, and knew that 
they had the right in their native country to worship God 
agreeably to the dictates of conscience .” — “ I have the right 
too,” replied Mrs. Manville, “to object to their views, and yours 
also; and whether they have acted according to principle, pre- 
judice, sentiment, or conscience, I care not a red copper but 
I can tell you that I never can get over being called a ‘ vile 
heretic/ as Julia Manville termed me, and an apostate from 
the one Holy Catholic and Apostolical Church; and as it will 
be a difficult matter to procure another governess, and I am 
compelled to go to my native city, and it is impossible for me 
to carry Lizette and Ada, and you will not make them Episco- 
palians, I expect you had better not say anything to Colonel 
Manville about abandoning your engagement.” 

I laughed, for I knew all the time that she would not permit 


148 


LOUISE ELTON; 


me to give up my office as governess for any consideration. I 
saw that she was like many other people — a perfect bigot : 
that she thought she was a model of intelligence, and had 
persuaded herself that she was so thoroughly learned, that a 
poor governess would not dare to oppose her. She was a great 
tyrant, and gloried in the power she had even over an ignorant 
slave. Wealthy associations, however, stations in high life, &c., 
had caused her to nurse her passion, and she loved to command 
all whom it was her lot to be related to, in every capacity. 
Miss Morris had been a resident of Green Haven for several 
years, and she had endured, with humility and resignation, a 
multitude of indignities which Mrs. Manville had thrown in 
her way. Miss Morris looked to Colonel Manville as a daugh- 
ter looks to a father. She loved his children, and they loved 
and respected her. She had been on the eve of leaving Green 
Haven several times on account of Mrs. Manville’ s behaviour, 
but the tears and entreaties of the girls always overcame her 
determination. Mrs. Manville could not bear the slightest 
opposition, and resembled the individual who, a tyrant by 
nature, and fearing that his wife’s stratagems controlled him, 
became boisterous and quarrelsome, in order to convince him- 
self that he really was ruler of his own house. Before I 
left her chamber, she called Lizette and Ada up to say their 
prayers. It was then bed-time. She sat on her velvet 
cushion, while Lizette knelt on one side of her lap and Ada on 
the opposite. Now, thought I, is the time for me to learn her 
form of devotion, and the manner in which she taught her 
stepdaughters to address their evening supplications to heaven. 
The children were kneeling, with their sleepy eyes buried in 
the folds of her Oriental drapery. She at length, rather 
sharply, said, “ Go on, Lizette.”— “ Our Father, who art in 
heaven, hallowed be thy name,” said the little sleepy child. 
Mrs. Manville then put her hand upon her head, which was a 
signal for the child to stop. — “ Lettie,” she said to her servant 
girl, who sat nodding in the corner, “ put your knitting in the 


OR; THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 149 

basket, and tell Harriet to count Rachel’s “ broaches/’ and tell 
me how many she has spun to-day. Go on, Lizette.” — “ Thy 
kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” 
— “ Lettie, come here to me,” squalled the pious lady; “ come 
here to me, I say. How dare you slam that door so ?” — Rap, 
rap, rap, she gave Lettie over the head and shoulders with her 
cowhide. “Now go and learn to keep silence when I am at 
devotion with these children. You all are too provoking. — It 
is impossible to be religious, and manage Colonel Manville’s 
children and servants. — Go on, Lizette.” — “ Give us this day 
our daily bread ; and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive 
those who trespass against us.” — “ Miss Elton,” said she, “ do 
me the favor, if you please, to ring that bell.” — I rang it, and 
in came Harriet. — “ Here I am, Mistress,” drawled the 
stupid African. — “ Go into the librarjq and wake your master. 
Tell him I say it is bed-time; and if he is not in that room, go 
down to Hr. Finlay’s office; he is always stuck down there. 
Tell him to come in ; that I am going to fasten up the house 
for to-night. Go on, Lizette.” — “ And lead us not into temp- 
tation ; but deliver us from evil.” — “ Lettie, Lettie !” she called 
loudly. — “Madam,” responded the servant. — “Take that 
candle, and go to the front door, and see if it is locked. — Go 
on, Lizette.” — “ For thine is the kingdom, and the power” — 
“Stop, Lizette, for I do believe there is Hr. Finlay just come 
home. He has been off to see some of his patients, at a dis- 
tance, and ten to one if he does not want supper. How 
troublesome it is to have a doctor about the house, coming in 
interrupting everything at all hours of the night! I do 
declare that no ten women of ordinary health and strength, 
taken collectively, and interrogated, could tell of as many 
troubles and perplexities as myself. Go on, Lizette.” — “For 
thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever 
and ever. Amen.” — “ Now, Lizette, take Ada to bed. She 
has gone fast asleep here on my lap. Go into the nursery; 
make her kneel down, you kneel beside her, and repeat the 

13 * 


150 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Lord’s Prayer to her, and see that she calls every word after 
you. Now, mind what I say to you, for you know how strict 
I am about your prayers ; and you are aware, also, that your 
father will he greatly displeased with you if I tell him that 
you have disobeyed me. There is your candle on the table, 
light it, and go on. I hear Dr. Finlay out there upon the 
portico, and I shall have to see about his supper.” — As I was 
leaving her chamber, she said, “ Nice time of the night to be 
coming in, and now supper is to be cooked and set for Dr. 
Finlay ! I hate a doctor, and wish they were every one at the 
devil, — just where Finlay will go for salivating me when I 
had the fever.” — I could not sleep till about midnight after I 
retired. I kept laughing at Mrs. Manville’s remarks about 
Dr. Finlay. Sleep, at length, waved its somniferous wings 
over me, and on the next morning, after breakfast, Miss Anna 
resumed her chair in the fine chamber, and gave me the 
following narrative. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

STORY OF WALDEGRAVE. 

“ The genius of adventure at a very early age, it appears, 
inspired Waldegrave with a disposition to roam. When he 
was quite a young man, he determined to penetrate the wilds 
of the Southwest. He accordingly left his father’s house, 
in company with several of his youthful companions, and 
migrated to Texas, where he purchased a plantation, and 
there settled. He continued upon his farm, until the war 
broke out between Mexico and Texas in 1836. He then 
enlisted, and fought bravely for the liberty of the ‘Lone 
Star.’ Letters came to Colonel and Mrs. Manville that 
Waldegrave was a soldier; that his interests were then iden- 
tified with all that interested Texas, and that there he had 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 151 

made his home; that as he had often heard the screams of the 
dying virgin, and had seen her snowy bosom dyed with her 
own blood, which gushed from her heart when the lance of 
the Mexican or Indian was plunged into it; and, moreover, 
as he had seen infants torn from their mothers’ arms, and 
murdered within their view ; and had heard the crash of the 
falling roof of the lonely cottage, as the flames kindled by the 
savage foe arose red and angrily over the defenceless in- 
mates, — he informed his father and mother that he had en- 
gaged to drive away these murderers, who were not only 
ravaging the frontier, but had forced themselves into the 
heart of Texas, and that their watchword was ‘ Murder.’ — 
‘ This is the country for me,’ said he, in a letter to Colonel 
Manville ; ‘this is the country for which I will fight. Here 
the native decorations of the earth, in the way of luxuriant 
evergreens and gorgeous flowers, are as brilliant and magnifi- 
cent as the eye of mortal ever beheld. This is the counter- 
part of Eden, and no other country save Texas can boast of 
such beauty and brilliancy. The beams of the sun, and the 
natural vivifying moisture of the soil, perpetually enliven the 
flowers, fruits, and trees. Here the gay-plumaged birds 
sing and revel in the umbrageous trees, and rock their pro- 
geny to sleep amongst the clustering vines which interlink their 
chain-like tendrils with the branches of the thick flowering 
hedges. This is an imperial dominion. There is something 
grand and lovely in its appearance. It ought to be one of the 
States. Nature declares that it does belong to the Union, and 
the inhabitants are determined to rise up and shake off the 
manacles of barbarous and unenlightened Mexico ! From the 
lance of the assassin then be it free ! From the scalping- 
knife and tomahawk of the savage be it free ! The very last 
drop of my blood will I lose in defending this beautiful gem, 
yet to be set in the brilliant diadem, which sparkles upon 
America’s fair brow !’ Poor Waldegrave ! I have often 
heard Colonel Manville sigh, and exclaim, ‘My dear son, Wal- 


152 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


degrave, fell in Texas in '36/ — Indeed, Miss Elton, I have 
often heard that be was a true patriot. — ‘ Yes, the generous, 
noble-hearted Waldegrave,' Miss Emily used to say, 1 loved 
Texas, and its green sod has been consecrated by the blood of 
my brave brother ! The night-winds have many a time howled 
his requiem around the old castle at Alamo ! The birds of 
prey have fattened upon his flesh ! His gory regimentals have 
mouldered to dust beneath the fortress, and his bones have 
been hidden under its heap of ruins !' Yonder tall white 
cenotaph, erected to his memory, often reminds us of his valor 
in his country's cause, but his virtues have a mausoleum in 
the hearts of all who burn incense upon the altar of patriot- 
ism !" 


CHAPTER XIX. 

STORY OF EDWIN. 

“Edwin's story is simple and short. He was in the arms of 
his nurse when he died, as he was only a little upwards of two 
years of age. At one time he was a lovely, rosy infant. Mrs. 
Manville, however, fell out with his foster-mother. She pre- 
tended that she felt it her duty as a stepmother to have Edwin 
nursed at home. She deceived Colonel Manville about the 
child, and although she did not care a cent for the little fellow, 
she did not cease to worry Colonel Manville, and told him that 
Edwin was not properly attended to ; that the old lady who had 
charge of him was not a professor of religion ; that his prayers 
would be neglected, and that he always had a cold, and that 
she could see that his foster-mother was incapable of raising 
him. She kept on, in this way, after Colonel Manville, and 
notwithstanding her dislike to his children, she used every 
stratagem imaginable to impress the Colonel with the belief 
that she was performing her duty to him and his children, and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


153 


she hourly feared that, at some unguarded moment, he would 
see through her nicely studied and well-practised duplicity. 
Preparations were made, and Edwin was brought home. This 
fine mansion was finished and furnished then. His stepmother’s 
vanity was gratified ; for she had said to Colonel Manville, that 
if he allowed Edwin to remain where he was, she would con- 
clude that he placed more confidence in the foster-mother than 
in herself. This, of course, would have been an encroach- 
ment upon her superiority of character. He only lived three 
months after they brought him here. He died the winter after 
Miss Julia’s death. 

“ How often have we seen the horticulturist preparing his 
beds in the garden for the reception of some tender little plant; 
the soil is, perhaps, fertile; the clods are all crumbled, and 
lie in a pulverulent state; he has procured a large watering- 
pot, with which he intends to refresh the lowly plant, after it 
is placed in the flower-bed. For awhile it looks fresh and green ; 
you think it is beginning to take root ; it buds, and the small 
fibres of the green bark begin to expand into leaves. Pre- 
sently, the attention of the horticulturist is called off to the 
lordly trees of the garden, or park; — these are “ Nature’s 
nobility,” the florists and botanists say, and they attract more 
attention than the humble floweret. After awhile a drought 
comes on; the lowly plants of the garden have been neglected 
too long; the watering-pot lies rusting on the gravelled walk; 
the thirsty insects have sucked the juices from the green stems 
of the plant ; it languishes, sickens, and dies upon the neglected 
parterre, and its delicate petals are blown away beneath some 
thick old shade ; then, alas ! how soon they are forgotten ! 

“ I have now told you all I know, Miss Louise, relative to the 
deceased wife and daughters of Colonel James Manville, as well 
as his two sons, Waldegrave and Edwin. Sometimes, when I 
have been walking out with Kate, Lizette, and Ada, we have 
gone to the monuments, and found Colonel Manville there. I 
recollect one afternoon in particular we walked down there, and 


154 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


the Colonel was standing under that cypress by Waldegrave’s 
cenotaph, looking very serious and gloomy, and as we ap- 
proached, I heard him say, ( G-one, but not lost !* then he 
emerged from the shade, and went to the house. I thought 
then, 1 Poor man ! why did you hurry so, and get married so 
soon again, without scarcely taking time to think what you 
were about/ I also thought he might have been so much 
happier with his lovely daughters than to have married 
any one ; then I recollected that my aunt once told me that 
the greatest simpleton in the world was an old man who had 
just become a widower.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

(c You have never seen the garret rooms of this house, have 
you, Miss Elton ?” said Miss Morris to me, one evening after I 
had come from the school-room. — “ I have not,” I replied. — 
u Well,” continued she, “ before I leave Green Haven I will 
try and get the keys from Mrs. Manville, and take you up 
there. I want you to see the portrait of the first wife the 
Colonel had. The present Mrs. Manville had it hung on the 
garret-wall, locked the door, and has kept the keys. She 
furnished the greater portion of the money to build this house, 
and she would not allow Kate to hang the portrait in her own 
room. After Julia died, it was sent to the garret. I will go 
up there, and remove the veil of dust that covers the beautiful 
face, and give you an opportunity to see it. As soon as con- 
venient, it is to be sent to Kate. She is going to housekeeping 
next spring ; and when you go to Manville Hall you will see 
the portraits of Misses Emily, Lavinia, and Julia.” I was 
delighted at the idea of seeing Mrs. Manville’ s picture ; but 
more than delighted when Miss Morris assured me that I was 
to behold the portraits of those lovely women in whose history 
I had been so deeply interested. Miss Morris, agreeably to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 155 

her promise, by some means procured the keys of the garret, 
and we entered the room where hung one of the most magnifi-^ 
cent paintings I ever saw. We brushed the dust off of it, and 
there was the picture of an angelic-looking woman. The portrait 
was painted when she was at the most interesting period of life. 

I said, u I have noticed the rosebud, in the morning twilight, 
with dew-drops glittering on its delicate, half-unclosed petals ; 
but its loveliness is somewhat hidden. It is pretty, but not so 
exquisitely beautiful as it is after the sun glows upon it awhile. 
This is its highest point of delicate and tender beauty. After 
awhile, the noontide comes on; it hangs on its flexile stem, 
waving to and fro in the gale ; its fragrance is sought by all 
who behold it ; its beautiful fresh glow ravishes the eye of the 
spectator, because it has arrived at perfection ; — yes, ’tis beau- 
tiful, perfectly beautiful now. After the mind of an indivi- 
dual comes to maturity, if the features are beautiful, they have 
a brighter glow, a sweeter attraction to me, than is pictured in 
the face before the features become consolidated, and the prin- 
ciples of the heart formed. Usually, after this period, the sor- 
rows of life begin to arise, like the beast John saw in the vision, 

< with seven heads, and ten horns/ There is no alternative 
then ; the perfect charms are beginning to fade, like those of 
the rose’s petals. The sun begins to pass the meridian ; the 
rays are so hot the flower is withered ; it looks very pale, and 
the storm that rises later in the evening shakes its sweet bloom 
to the ground. When we begin to descend the other side of 
life’s mountain, and look back to the crystal streams that are 
murmuring in the youthful grottoes, and the fresh, green foliage 
that we have left there, the countenance is apt to sadden at the 
gloomy idea of going downwards. The farther side of the moun- 
tain is more rocky than the other. There is a dark valley at 
the base, and the shadows of this vale conceal the river called 
Lethe, or forgetfulness. After awhile, we fall into it, and are 
remembered but a little longer, and only by a few, who, per- 
haps, may gaze upon our portrait, look towards our grave, sigh, 


156 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


and dash away a small tear, and then hasten themselves to the 
foot of life’s mountain.” In gazing on Mrs. Manville’s portrait, 
I found what I looked for, — intellectual beauty, pictured as 
forcibly as could have been done by the mimic pencil. ' At 
the time she sat for her portrait, she had passed a few .de- 
grees beyond that period of life, when her beauty was most 
brilliant. Still, she was beautiful; her eyes were languish- 
ing, and of a rich blue; her hair was brown and glossy; 
and Nature had bestowed upon her one of the most indelible 
stamps of beauty, in my judgment, in an arched, heavy, dark 
eyebrow, and a long, rich brown eyelash. “’Tis strange,” said I 
to Miss Morris, “ that a man of Colonel Manville’s taste, sense, 
and judgment, should have married a woman like his present 
wife, if the picture before us is a correct likeness of his first 
partner .” — “ Yes, it is,” said Miss Morris, “ very strange ; and 
this picture is said to be a perfect likeness of the beautiful, 
modest, amiable, pious, and intelligent mother of eight chil- 
dren. Colonel Manville has hours of solemn reflection, I 
know, and drops many a secret tear when he looks up to the 
top of that green mountain, of which you were just speaking, 
when memory gilds the clear waters and green bowers there 
with the gentle ‘ light of other days.’ ” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The hours at Green Haven were passing rapidly away. 
Employment, that healthful pabulum of the mental appetite, 
and the invigorating power which ever buoys the physical con- 
stitution, was carrying me along with inconceivable swiftness. 
I had received a letter from home : all were well ; and satisfied 
that I was acting for the best, I had my little students at their 
books every day, and they were progressing finely. I now 
spent the most of my leisure hours in the library, — just where 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


157 


I loved to be, — for I revelled away many moments that would 
perhaps have been spent in idleness, in opening the literary cas- 
kets which were stored away there. I examined their priceless 
gems, and endeavored to make my mind a kind of prismatic 
glass. I collected all the brightest rays I possibly could into a 
mental focus. Nothing interrupted me, till one evening Mrs. 
Manville sent for me to come to her room. I complied with 
her request, and she proposed that I should accompany her to 
the house of her dressmaker. I had very lately been in the 

fashionable city of , and had several new French patterns 

that pleased Mrs. Manville very much. She insisted on my 
going with her, and soon made me understand, indirectly, how- 
ever, that I might consider myself highly complimented to be 
invited by her to go to a place, and also to be called upon to 
furnish the patterns of my dress, etc., for so elegant a lady as 
the one before me. I proposed to her to permit Lizette and 
Ada to go along with us. She consented for Ada to go, but 
said plainly that Lizette should not go : that she had disobeyed 
her the previous night, and that she would make her stay at home. 
We came out, and I heard Mrs. Manville lock the door of her 
chamber after her. We walked across an old field, along a 
narrow beaten path, till we came in front of a neatly white- 
washed log-house. When we went into the house, Mrs. Man- 
ville was so greatly fatigued that she was compelled to lie down. 
The name of the seamstress was Alice Watts. She seemed 
to regard Mrs. Manville as a kind of goddess ; she sat the best 
chair for her, pressed the bed for her to lie upon, spread a 
quilt over her, darkened the room, insisted on heating a flat- 
iron to put to her feet, and told her sister Melinda to run out 
and prepare a cup of hot tea for Mrs. Manville. After resting 
awhile, the lady arose. I showed Alice how to cut patterns of 
my dresses, — cut the pattern of a French negligee that I had ; 
and while I was doing this, she took the liberty to rip open 
the side-seams of a large silk cape, in order to see how it was 
cut and put together. No matter if Queen Victoria had lent 

14 


158 


LOUISE ELTON; 


a piece of the most complicated needle-and-scissors’-work in 
the world, Alice would have deemed herself justifiable in 
ripping it to pieces to cut something like it, provided Mrs. 
Manville wished it. After awhile we started back to the man- 
sion, and reached its noble halls about sunset. We went to 
the door of Mrs. Manville’s room, when she took the key from 
her pocket and unlocked the door. When I entered the room 
the first thing I noticed was Lizette lying on the floor asleep, 
and when Mrs. Manville aroused her, I was actually frightened. 
It seemed that to punish poor Lizette for some trivial offence, or 
misconceived act of disobedience, Mrs. Manville had directed 
her to sit on a stool in the middle of the floor till her return. 
The child had wept till her eyes were swollen, her cheeks were 
stained with the tears that had poured over their pink surface, 
her nose had bled profusely, and when she got upon her feet, 
I saw that her apron was all spotted with the crimson drops 
which had fallen upon it. She looked frightful. Bloody and 
cowed, she hung her head, and seemed afraid to look up. I 
looked at her, and she sunk again on the silk-covered “ stool 
of repentance,” and wept anew. There stood her haughty, 
cruel stepmother, gazing on her, and looking as if she was 
trying to spy out a look or a gesticulation which she might 
declare a testimonial of inward disobedience. I felt very much 
disposed to tell her what I thought of her, but I knew the 
violence of her temper; besides, I was consoled with the fact 
that Lizette and Ada were so soon to be removed from her ; 
that they were to be exclusively under my charge, and I knew 
my affection for children was such, that I would be tender with 
the poor little girls ; that while Mrs. Manville was ringing the 
bell for a servant, I reminded Lizette that we all would go to 
Manville Hall soon, where she would be under my control, 
and that I would love her, and be good to her and Ada. 
Lizette seemed greatly relieved by what I told her, and when 
Lettie made her appearance, I heard Mrs. Manville order her 
to take Lizette to the kitchen, and wash her, and that if she 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


159 


met Colonel Manville or Dr. Finlay, to say to them that Lizette 
got in a passion with her ma, and before she became quiet, her 
nose bled all over her face and clothes. 

As I crossed the portico going into Miss Morris’s room, I 
saw her stop Lettie on the pavement, near the kitchen, and 
inquire of her what was the matter with Lizette; but the ser- 
vant said not a word, and hurried into the kitchen with the 
child. When Miss Morris came in, she said, "Miss Elton, 
what’s the matter with Lizette ?” I told her that Mrs. Man- 
ville had said that Lizette had disobeyed her, and refused to 
take her to Alice Watts’s, the dressmaker; that she locked 
Lizette in her room, and that when we returned we found her 
on the floor asleep, and her snow-white apron all stained with 
blood ; that her nose had been bleeding. “ Gracious !” ex- 
claimed Miss Morris, “ I have been here all the afternoon, in 
my room, and poor dear Lizette suffering in that stepmother’s 
prison, and I did not know it; for,” added she, “Miss Elton, 
if Colonel Manville himself had come and attempted to open 
the door of his wife’s room, and his own child in there, in 
blood and tears, Lizette would have been afraid to tell her 
father that she was in there. The children have been taught to 
believe that their father regards them as being bad and unruly ; 
and no matter how deeply his feelings would have been hurt 
at the sight of Lizette, he would have said that surely no wo- 
man, who is herself a mother, would punish my poor little 
child, unless it was for some very great misconduct. Mrs. 
Manville would have told him that Lizette was bad-tempered, 
and would have made the Colonel believe that she was right.” 
— “ Miss Morris,” said I, “ how long do you suppose it will be 
before the return of Mr. Charles Manville?” — “He is ex- 
pected here day after to-morrow; he promised me to come 
back to my wedding, as I invited him particularly to do so. 
He has been staying in a town where Carrie Ashmore is at a 
boarding school ; his sisters are there, and he will fetch them 
with him, being on their way to Manville Hall. He will insist 


160 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


on your going directly to his house. I know, Miss Elton, for 
he is devoted to the children, and knows how unpleasantly they 
are situated here. If you should tell him that you saw Lizette’s 
apron as bloody as the apparel of a soldier after a hardfought 
battle, he would shed tears ; for I never saw a gentleman have 
a more sympathetic heart in my life than old Charles Manville. 
He is the greatest friend to woman too, I ever saw. He is de- 
lighted with you, Miss Elton ; and who knows but that you 
may marry the old gentleman one of these days? You know 
how fashionable it is becoming for old men to seek young 
wives. The old gentleman is so kind, amiable, interesting, 
talented, and wealthy, that he is calculated altogether to make 
somebody happy ; and he says that he has committed an un- 
pardonable error, as he did not marry when he was a young 
widower. It has been a great many years since the decease 
of his wife.” I was listening in astonishment to what Miss 
Morris was saying, for I supposed that Mr. Manville did not 
even dream of matrimony ; and what astonished me most was 
that Miss Morris should say that perhaps Mr. Manville and I 
would marry. I was almost angry with her, and replied, “ Miss 
Morris, if I believed that Mr. Manville would ever entertain 
such a thought as naming the subject .of marriage to me, I j 
would not go one step to Manville Hall. It would look too 
much like going there with the expectation of getting a hus- 
band; an article I do not want, nor never intend to have. 

I had a heart once, which I gave away. There was one who 
carried it many a mile from here; he died, and with him went 
all the affection that ever vibrated upon the strings of my 
heart. It is like the wires of a musical instrument, that, once 
snapped in twain, no human power can re-string it with the 
same wires ; and if they are twisted or soldered together, they 
only send forth, when struck, a dull, inharmonious sound, that 
is unpleasing and discordant to the ear ; after a while they rest 
on the sound-board till the instrument is found to be worthless ; 
then it is tumbled with other lumber into the garret or cellars 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 161 

of the mansion. 0 no, Miss Morris, don’t speak of matrimony 
to me. I am incapable of falling in love; ’tis impossible; 
such a thought never enters my head. I am naturally of a 
cold, phlegmatic temperament. I have sufficient education to 
procure a comfortable support. I care not a fig for wealth ; nor 
would I yield my personal independence to marry any man 
living. Alphonse is dead. I loved him, but have never loved 
another. I love his memory, however, for his name and vow 
is inurned within my heart’s most sacred recess. I never can 
forget him. He was the first and last personage to whom I 
ever thought I could swear fealty, as lord paramount. I 
think I understand the duty of a wife well enough, but I do 
not believe that I am now competent to impart that happiness 
to a husband, which I think every woman should endeavor to 
impart, or not marry at all. I have had several opportunities 
to marry, but have declined them. I considered the matter 
well, and concluded that I preferred the life of a governess to 
any other ; consequently, I have no idea of entering the matri- 
monial arena. I believe that when a woman does what you 
are about doing, that she should relinquish the business of 
teaching, and turn her attention to household matters. With 
me the case is entirely different. I never was intended for the 
wife of but one certain individual ; he is dead, and as Junius 
says of the great Earl of'Chatham, 1 left nothing on this earth 
that resembles him.’ I love the employment of a governess, 
and my peculiar faculty for imparting instruction fits me pre- 
cisely for the business.” 

“Miss Elton,” said Miss Morris, laughing, “you have taken 
a vow of celibacy then, have you ?” — “ No, not a vow,” re- 
plied I, “ for if I had, I would be a nun, and wear the black 
veil ; or turn Sister of Charity, of the order of St. Vincent de 
Paul, and wear the broad-frilled cap. I have said that I never 
intend to marry, because I do not think I can ever love any 
one well enough to marry them ; besides, I should not like to 
attempt to accommodate myself to the restraints of a married 

14 * 


162 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


life. I tell you, Miss Morris, that my heart is dead to love, 
and I verily believe I shall die an exception to the general rule, 
and be, as long as I live, what the world never saw, and per- 
haps never may see again ; a woman who does not wish to 
marry ! and after a while the world will see a prodigy (in that 
same woman) still more marvellous, — an old maid through 
choice !” — “ You will alter your mind,” Miss Morris replied ; 
“ I know you will. I have heard women talk, on both sides of 
the sea. Somebody, some of these days, will prevail upon you 
to change your purpose.” — ■“ I do not believe it,” said I, “ for 
I have named myself the inveterate, invincible, inflexible 
Louise Elton, especially against the hymeneal vow. I am a 
confirmed misogamist, because I do not believe that I was ever 
formed to love but that one who died in India. I am in favor 
of women living up to their duty when married. If I were a 
married woman, I would try to do so. I never would express 
an opinion upon a matter of any importance, if it met not 
the approbation of my husband.” — “ Your ideas, Miss Elton, 
are correct, regarding the duties of a wife, and also what you 
think of the connubial felicity of those who determine to 
make their firesides happy. I regret, however, to hear you 
declare yourself a misogamist ; for I dislike that some clever fel- 
low should lose you : there is some one whom you might render 
happy, and I very much dislike to see one of the cleverest of God's 
creatures swindled out of so good a wife as you are capable of 
making, if you would only turn your attention to it.” As I 
could not bear to talk about getting married myself, for it re- 
vived all those painful recollections which had a few years be- 
fore saddened my heart, and even sickened me with my own 
existence, recollections that I wished to be like the leaves of 
autumn, withered and faded, and forgotten upon the earth, as 
I felt so perfectly shielded from the shafts of love, and had 
chosen the life of a governess, — so, by way of changing the con- 
versation, I requested Miss Morris to tell me something of the 
gentleman to whom she was so shortly to be married, “ for,” said 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 163 

I to her, “ I love to hear of the mutual happiness of those who 
are married, and I feel a deep solicitude in one who is about to 
tie the 1 Gordian knot/ Now do hush about me, and tell me 
something of your intended husband. Is he an Englishman V f 
“ His parents were from England, but he was born in the 
United States; his name is Kipton,” said Miss Morris; “he is 
about six feet high, his eyes are of a bluish-gray color ; he is 
forty years old : amiable, handsome, and intelligent ; he is a 

rich merchant in the city of . I regard mine as a very 

judicious choice, indeed. I love him very much, and have 
every assurance from him that he loves me. I believe that I 
am sufficiently well acquainted with myself to assert that I 
shall have too much regard for truth and justice, and love him 
so well, that I shall never ill-treat his children. Captain 
Kipton is a widower with three very interesting children. I 
have not seen them yet, but I have promised him that I will 
be a mother to them, and I intend to comply with my promise. 
I shall ever have before my eyes the wrongs I have seen prac- 
tised in this house against poor motherless children. Mrs. 
Manville’ s conduct will be a beacon to me. I shall profit by 
the hard, long lessons, I have seen other people forced to learn, 
whilst I have resided here. There is a mystery, shrouded by a 
veil, Miss Elton, through which I have never been able to see. 
It is this ; — whenever a woman marries a widower, who has 
children, of course she must have some idea of the responsi- 
bility which she is taking upon herself. If she loves him, how 
can she abuse those children ? How can a woman be so 
cruel as to weave a charm over the mind of her husband that 
actually seduces his affection from his own offspring; and per- 
suades him by her wiles, till he believes that they are head- 
strong, ungovernable, and irascible. Poor Emily Manville, I 
shall never forget the expression of her countenance, when she 
bade her father farewell, when she was going to Manville 
Hall to die ; she said, 1 Pa, do you recollect the dying words 
of sister Lavinia, that when a widower marries, if he has 
children, he must either please his wife or his children V 


164 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


‘Lavinia and I often spoke of you, while we were together 
at Havana. I want you to be happy, pa ; I have loved you 
as much since you were married to your present wife as I ever 
loved you ; but your good sense must tell you, that there is a 
co-operation between you and Mrs. Manville. I trust you will 
confide in Julia and Kate to a certain extent, and if they should 
marry, give Lizette and Ada, if they are alive, to Uncle Charles. 
Let them go to Manville Hall, and stay till they are grown. 
Dear, dear old ancestral halls, they are the safest and most 
happy retreat of any other spot on this earth !’ — I know, Miss 
Elton, that I will make a kind stepmother, for I love Captain 
Kipton too devotedly to ill-treat his children. I am perfectly 
satisfied, therefore, to become his wife. He has made three 
trips to England. He told me once that he intended making 
another, and that he would carry me with him. I shall see old 
England again, and my native home. Eight years have passed 
away since I kissed my hand to the tops of the Mendip Hills, and 
the dark old spires of Bristol. One of my brothers has died 
since I left, but my father, sisters, and other brothers still live. 
I wish the day was here, and my marriage over. I shall not in- 
vite a company — I am to have no wedding-party at all. Colonel 
Manville was anxious for me to be married on the morning of 
Kate’s wedding, but it was not convenient for Captain Kipton 
to be here at that time. I have had many sad hours here, 
Miss Elton, about my isolated condition. I often wished my- 
self in England again ; now I am satisfied that ‘ everything 
happens for the best.’ I became acquainted with Captain Kip- 
ton several years ago. He used to visit Lavinia Manville, in 
company with Eugenius Barrick, to whom Miss Emily was 
once engaged to be married. Poor Emily ! her health was in- 
volved in too much incertitude for her to marry. She came to 
me in tears, one day, shortly after her return from Cuba, and 
said, ( Miss Morris, I have just had a long conversation with 
Uncle Doctor; he has convinced me that I ought not to marry 
Major Barrick, or any one else. Sometimes I was upon the eve 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


165 


of laughing at Uncle Doctor; for there he sat “looking as 
solemn as three days’ rain,” advising me not to love or marry. 
I promised him I would not, hut left to myself, I would rather 
marry Major Barrick, and die the next hour, than to be under 
the painful necessity of writing to him, and telling him that I 
am too nigh death to see him again. But/ said she, ‘ Miss 
Morris, Lavinia wished Captain Kipton to marry you; and 
when I write to Major Barrick that the air and medicine of 
Cuba has not cured me, I will tell him to send Captain Kipton 
to Green Haven, to see you. I wish I had a constitution like 
yours, Miss Anna ; but I am dying ! I am going to Manville 
Hall, to die on Ivanora’s bosom. I must forget Eugenius, and 
all the pleasant hours I have spent in his interesting society/ 
She wrote, in a few days, to Eugenius Barrick, and requested 
him to speak a friendly word to Captain Kipton. The Captain 
was then in the East Indies somewhere, and did not return till 
last spring. Major Barrick, however, during his absence, had 
been corresponding with Dr. Finlay, who kept him advised of 
my whereabouts. As soon as Captain Kipton returned to the 
United States, he came down to Green Haven, and spent a 
week. He paid me marked attention, but did not address 
me till last summer — which was done by letter. We have 
been engaged five months ; he has at last arranged his business 
affairs, and we are to be married on Thursday next.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“Nothing is too strange to happen,” thought I, “nothing at 
all,” as I ran over the old proverbs of the nursery. “Nothing is 
too strange to take place, now-a-days,” I said, directly after 
dinner, on the day that Miss Morris was to be married, for I was 
thinking how curious it was, to come to Green Haven as I had with 
my brother, and the unexpected changes that were made in our 
arrangements, and that I should see two of the most interesting 


166 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


persons about the mansion marry, go away, and leave me 
there. Letters had come from little Kate, informing her pa 
that she was happily married, and begging him to retain “ Miss 
Elton, if possible,” and to send Lizette and Ada to Manville Hall, 
with her dear Uncle Charles, immediately. At four o'clock in 
the afternoon, I heard that Captain Kipton was approaching. 
I ran into the front dining-room, and, woman like, raised the 
fine silk curtain, to see Miss Morris's future husband. Major 
Barrick was there too. What a contrast, thought I, and what 
sorrowful changes are made by the hand of Time ! The last 
week that Major Barrick spent at Green Haven, the halls echoed 
back the notes of that sweet voice, which now was hushed in 
death. I was surprised, too, as I gazed on Kipton and Bar- 
rick — for behold ! there was an elderly woman with them, and 
I had not heard that a lady was expected. I was, perhaps, as 
much perplexed, to think who she was, as the messenger who 
went to the furnace, and with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed- 
nego, saw another personage. I ran back to tell Miss Morris, 
whom I found trembling, and so much agitated that she could 
not stand still. 

Said I, “ Miss Morris, in the language of Nebuchadnezzar, 
when he looked into the furnace, f Lo ! I see four people loose/ 
walking in the midst of the yard, and the fourth person is like 
a woman ! Here comes your bridegroom and Major Barrick, 
met by Dr. Finlay, and they are escorting an old-looking lady 
to the house.'' — “ Ah I indeed/' said Miss Morris, “ it must 
be old Miss Amy Kipton, the captain's maiden sister, of whom 
he Las so often spoken. She must be invited at once into my 
room. Miss Elton, please go to the dining-room door for her. 
Dr. Finlay has met them, and he will introduce her, and hand 
her out to you, provided you do not wish to go into the room 
where the gentlemen are. In case you do go into the room, be 
careful, or you will forget your Utopian schemes of old maiden- 
hood, and fall in love with Barrick. He is a splendid fellow, 
and I want you to look at his magnificent eyes. I think they 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


167 


will touch your heart; and as you conduct Miss Amy to me, 
be certain to take a good look at her, in order that you may 
know how you will appear at the age of fifty-three, if you are 
then called 1 Miss Louise/ 77 — I went to the dining-room, and 
called Dr. Finlay. He came to me in an instant. He was a 
practising physician, and habituated to coming quickly when 
you called him, as every good doctor should do. He insisted 
on my coming into the room, but I told him Miss Morris had 
sent me for her intended sister-in-law. I did not know that 
there was anything peculiar in my remark, till Dr. Finlay 
laughed, and said, “ You are quite mischievous this evening, 
Louise. You will excuse me for calling you Louise, without 
prefixing the Miss to the name, will you not ? 77 — I told him, 
“ Certainly I would/ 7 — Then he remarked, “I love to call 
your name, Louise. Louise ! how sweetly it sounds \” and he 
gave me such a curious look over the frame of his spectacles, 
that I had to turn my head away to avoid his significant 
glance. I saw him look at me in that way every time I went 
where he was. When I told it to Miss Morris, she replied, 
“ 7 Tis because Dr. Finlay loves you; I can see that he 
loves you, and I know he loves the name of Louise/ 7 — I 
thought differently, for I often said that Dr. Finlay and I 
resemble two icebergs passing each other in the deep cold 
waters of indifference ; and still I could not avoid laughing 
at the manner in which he looked at me over his spec- 
tacles. He gave me an introduction to Miss Amy Kipton, 
an old maid in the most extensive meaning of the term. She 
wore a short-waisted, brown cloth riding-dress, trimmed with 
black silk braid, a pair of narrow white linen cuffs, and a 
collar of the same material as white as snow. Her hair was 
very gray, and she wore over it a black lace cap, trimmed in 
front with pink ribands and flowers. She had very large eyes, 
and her skin looked as sallow as if the people where she lived 
had introduced the fashion of yellow-washing the face, instead of 
whitening it with meenfun and pearl-powder. She had her 
pocket handkerchief pinned to her left side, and on her right 


168 


LOUISE ELTON; 


arm hung an old-fashioned, green silk reticule, with an long 
riband run through its casing, tied in a bow-knot, which sat 
upward on her bony arm, with as much obedience as if it 
dreaded an anathema from its formal old mistress, in case it 
moved from the spot whereon she had formally placed it. 
This ancient specimen walked briskly, and with as much 
activity as a danseuse. I thought I never had seen any one 
so frisky, unless it was a widow just out of her weeds, and in 
a great hurry for some one to court her. I presented her to 
Miss Morris, as I had received her, as “ Miss Amy Kipton 
and, in the hurry and confusion of the old maids kissing each 
other, and their gratulations, &c., I knocked over a chair, and 
cracked a fine large mirror that was hung to a pier table. 
“ You won’t marry for seven years,” said Miss Amy. — “ I 
know I will not,” said I; and out I ran to the portico to go 
to Mrs. Manville, and inform her of the damage I had acci- 
dentally done to her mirror. As I was crossing the portico, I 
met Dr. Finlay by himself. He caught my hand, drew my 
arm within his own, and said, “ Louise, will you not prome- 
nade with me a little while here ?” — I pulled away from him, 
and ran off to Mrs. Manville’s room, and, as I left him, I 
replied, “No, I thank you, Doctor; ’tis too chilly to walk on 
the gallery this afternoon.” — I informed Mrs. Manville that I 
had cracked the fine mirror, which, she assured me, would 
make no difference, but added, that it was a bad omen to break 
a mirror, especially on a wedding-day; — that she broke one 
on her last wedding evening, and, said she, “just look what 
trouble, vexation, and ingratitude I am living in !” — I then 
delivered some messages to Mrs. Manville from Miss Morris, 
and started to go back to her room. As I was re-crossing the 
gallery, I again met Dr. Finlay, and he said, “Louise, I have 
waited here expressly to intercept you ; I want to converse 
with you, will you not wait one moment ?” 

“ Certainly, Doctor,” said I, “ I’ll listen to you with plea- 
sure.” — “Well, you do not think me too familiar, when I call 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


169 


you Louise ? Oh, if you could only know how sweetly that 
name sounds to me, I know you would not censure me for 
loving to repeat it !” — “ I have no objection at all,” said I ; “ y ou 
can call me Louise, if you like to do so !” Then he took my 
hand again, and said, “ Louise, you have a very cold heart; 
your hands are remarkably hot.” — “ Yes !” said I, “ Doctor, if 
I have any heart at all, His very cold ; there’s no sensation in 
my heart.” — “ Say not so, Louise, but tell me if you have ever 
been disappointed in love ?” I told him I had loved, and that 
I had lived through some sad disappointments. I was with- 
drawing my hand, when he remarked, “Louise, what makes 
you take so much pains to avoid me? I have made several at- 
tempts to be sociable with you, but you run off and hide your- 
self like a partridge ; your brother will be here, in a day or 
two; he left you in my charge; I shall tell him that you have 
not spoken a dozen words to me since he left Green Haven !” — 
“Well, really,” said I, “Doctor, you have been absent so often 
on professional business, that I have not laid eyes on you 
sometimes for three or four days.” — “ Yes, but my engage- 
ments are never so strict as to prevent my calling upon you, 
Louise, and I have sent for you three several times, to come to 
the parlor, but you did not make your appearance.” — “ The 
first evening you called,” said I, “ my head ached so violently, 
that I could not come. I sent you my apology. The second 
call you made, Miss Morris and I had gone out to the office, 
to examine those grand old paintings there. We remained 
longer than we intended, and when you sent the servant 
for us to come to the parlor, we had removed one of the 
pictures, in order to see it in a stronger light than where it was 
hung, and it took us some time to replace it ; and when we 
came to the house, we heard that you had been called out in 
haste to see some sick person; and the third time you called, I 
had walked with Mrs. Manville to her mantuamaker’s. When 
I returned, Miss Morris informed me that you had called 
again; it seemed as if there was always something happen- 

15 


170 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


ing on purpose to prevent our meeting. I have not acted in 
this way to avoid you, I assure you, Doctor ; it has been the 
result of circumstances over which I have had no control.” Just 
at that moment, Miss Morris walked out of her room ; and the 
confusion I felt showed itself in my countenance. I was a 
little ashamed, because she had seen me alone with Doctor 
Finlay ; especially, as the Doctor seemed to be conversing so 
earnestly, and rather closely ; he held my hand too, in spite of 
the effort I made to disengage it, and as Miss Morris had seen 
all, I submitted in silence. The very moment he released me, 
I sprang from the chair, and ran away from him. As I en- 
tered our room, Miss Morris, in one of her provoking and 
quizical ways, said, “ Miss Elton, I told you so !” — “ Told 
what ?” said I. — “ I told you,” replied she, “ that Dr. Finlay 
was in love with you.” — “ I was only conversing with him,” 
said I, “a moment!” — “Yes, Miss Elton, it was to him, no 
doubt, a precious moment too — he held your hand very lovingly, 
and to ward off my suspicion, you struggled to be released. 
You know not how I enjoyed your captivity. I hope that I 
shall hear, some of these days that you are Mrs. Finlay !” — 
“ Do you believe me capable of encroaching upon the holiness 
of the matrimonial vow, when I have declared to you, Miss 
Morris, that I cannot love ; that I am now an avowed infidel, 
relative to the tenets of Cupid ? Iam inclined, also, to believe 
that a person who really loves, never can have the same tender 
affection for another; I have often heard that this is the case ; 
moreover, I do not care about being in love. I would not take 
the trouble to love ; neither do I believe that I could be suffi- 
ciently interested in a gentleman, to wish to marry him. One 
thing is certain, Miss Anna : I do not believe that I can ever 

forget how passionately I once loved Alphonse de Leroy !” 

“ True, you never may forget him, and always recollect the 
devotion with which you first loved, but that ought not to 
harden your heart against the tender passion, however, for you 
may love again. You are to marry Dr. Finlay, Miss Elton; 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 171 

I saw it the first evening you came to Green Haven ; he told 
me, before he learned your surname, that a stranger was in the 
parlor, and that her brother called her Louise ; and, said he^ *1 
was electrified, because she so closely resembles Madame Au- 
gereau ; and if she is unmarried, I shall deem it a signal inter- 
position of Heaven, that she has accidentally come to Green 
Haven ;’ he was almost crazy about you, and no little was I 
amused and distressed on his account, the first night he 
brought you in to tea. He seemed to be completely metamor- 
phosed; but the most provoking thing of all was, that unstudied 
indifference and nonchalance with which you seemed to regard 
the poor Doctor. Said I to myself, “ I have seen you, Dr. 
Finlay, in agonies about another Louise; when you have 
spoken of her to me, now I see you enveloped in uncertainty 
about another, who looks as invulnerable to me, as your first 
loved Louise used to think you looked yourself. Dr. Fin- 
lay is rich, Miss Elton ; he has a splendid practice ; he is 
talented, amiable, interesting, tender-hearted, and handsome; 
and what objection can you urge to him ?” 

“ None, none at all, Miss Morris ; only I do not wish to 
marry any one. I think that if a woman is single, and satis- 
fied, she is ten times better off than if she is married; and 
this is my condition, precisely. Oh pshaw ! Miss Morris, don’t 
say marry to me again; my heart’s door is padlocked;” and she 
caught instantly the thread of my sentence, and wound up by 
saying, “ and Dr. Finlay has found the key; ere long it will 
be unlocked.” Said I, “Miss Morris, you had better go 
and dress, to be married ; Miss Kipton and I will assist you ; 
and I will pay you a fine price if you won’t rally me about 
Dr. Finlay again; you must not joke me again about getting 
married; ’tis all a jest with you, I know; for a few days ago, 
you were advising me to ‘set my cap/ for old Mr. Man- 
ville; to-day it is Dr. Finlay; by to-morrow it will be some 
one else.” — “ Oh, yes,” said Miss Morris, “perchance I may 
plague you about Major Barrick; his heart is very susceptible; 


172 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


and if I discover that he becomes smitten, as Dr. Finlay has, 
I must be permitted to tell you of it. I regret that I am to 
leave here to-morrow, for I love you, Miss Elton, and I 
think that, by talking to you frequently upon the subject, 
I might turn your thoughts into the matrimonial conduit, and 
be the means, perhaps, of making you happy ; for I cannot 
bear to see a woman who possesses mind, and heart, and 
health, and personal attractions, bury her charms, just in the 
bloom of life. I used to beg the nuns, when I was in the con- 
vent, to pull off their mournful-looking habiliments, and come 
out into the world, and be ornaments to society; they are 
generally so highly educated, and amongst them are some of 
the purest-minded and most elegant women in the world, all 
shut out from the pleasures of that society, they were formed 
to adorn.” — Said I, “ Miss Morris, the parson is in yonder 
waiting for you, and Captain Kipton is growing impatient : go 
along and get married, and let me alone; for, as Hannah More 
has written, I am 

‘ Like the steadfast polar star, — 

That never from its fixed and faithful point declines.’ ” 

“Dear me,” said Miss Amy Kipton, “I have come down 
here to 1 set my cap/ for Mr. Charles Manville; he’s been given 
to me, and he’s a dear man; what age is he?” — “He is about 
seventy-eight years old,” replied Miss Morris. — “ Well,” said 
Miss Kipton, “I hear he’s a nice old gentleman; how many 
children has he ?” — “ Only one son,” said Miss Morris, “ and 
he’s married and gone; but his household is pretty large; he 
has two sisters, who are to reside with him, a granddaughter, 
Parson Macdonald, and a Welsh lady who superintends his 
establishment, and in March next, his niece, Miss Carrie Ash- 
more, graduates at the academy of , and she is his adopted 

daughter. Her mother gave Carrie to Mr. Manville on 
her deathbed. Mrs. Ashmore was a favorite sister, I hear, and 
when Miss Carrie leaves school, her home will be at Manville 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 173 

Hall. Miss Elton, also, is going there as governess, and Colonel 
Manville's two little daughters, Lizette and Ada, are to be 
carried there very soon. You will have a kind of nunnery 
there, Miss Elton, as Manville Hall is so secluded by shades 
and mountains; old Mr. Manville will represent the abbot, and 
Miss Matilda the mother superior.” — “Dear me,” said the 
old maid, “I cannot venture there; too many people there for 
me. I heard that the old gentleman was anxious to marry, 
that he wanted company, and lived a lonely retired life, but J 
have been misinformed. Dear me, how curiously people talk ; 
and you say he will not be here to see you married, Anna?” 
by which name she familiarly addressed Miss Morris. “ Dear 
me, I have come on purpose to see him, and all my trouble's 
for nothing. However,” said she, consolingly, as she leaned 
against the bureau, “ what is to be will be ;” and in a short 
time, we were all dressed to see Miss Morris married. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

About eight o'clock, I entered the parlor, and received an 
introduction to Parson Bayley, and Major Barrick. Captain 
Kipton had gone to receive his bride. I found Major Barrick 
to be one of the most intelligent and interesting gentlemen I 
had met for a great while, and one of the handsomest I 
ever saw; his eyes were black, oh richly black, a perfect ga- 
zelle's eye, soft, but expressive ; his complexion - was dark, 
and his hair black and glossy; he was eloquent in conver- 
sation. His serious cast of countenance attracted me, and I 
plainly saw that some of sorrow's darkest clouds had clustered 
around his manly brow. Colonel Manville and wife, Dr. Fin- 
lay, Major Barrick, Miss Amy Kipton, Lizette, Ada, and my- 
self, witnessed the marriage, by Parson Bayley, of Miss Anna 
Morris and Captain George Kipton. The evening sped away 
very agreeably indeed. I had the pleasure of an introduc- 

15 * 


174 


LOUISE ELTON; 


tion to the bridegroom, and was several times engaged in a 
social conversation with Dr. Finlay, who seemed very much 
disposed to converse upon the subject of the education of Lizette 
and Ada. He expressed himself highly gratified that they 
were going to Manville Hall, and told me that as soon as he 
could leave his patients, he would endeavor to visit ‘ the chil- 
dren/ He seemed to take particular pains to emphasize the 
word children, referring to Lizette and Ada, as if he meant 
me to understand distinctly that I would not be the object of 
his visit to Manville Hall. I made no reply, but I thought he 
lingered awhile to see if I would not say, ‘ Doctor, are you not 
coming there to see me too V In a short time after this con- 
versation, supper was announced. After we had retired from 
the tea-table, about three-quarters of an hour, Dr. Finlay was 
called out to see a lady in the neighbourhood who was ill, and 
as I was slow to form new acquaintances, and Major Barrick 
the only very interesting personage left in the parlors, and he 
was shrouded in melancholy, I said to Mrs. Kipton ‘good 
night/ courtesied to the gentlemen and Miss Amy, and re- 
tired.” 


CHAPTER XXI Y. 

I knew not at what hour the remainder of the company 
left the parlors. I was so soundly sleeping, that I did not 
hear the servant girl, who slept in our room, when she arose 
to open the door for Miss Amy to come in. Late in the night, 
however, I heard the old lady calling my name. She said, 
u Miss Elton, I am desperately frightened. I have been dis- 
turbed by some one who seems to be walking under the far 
window ; it is so near your head, too, I wonder you did not 
awake ; dear me, you sleep so soundly ! I called you six or 
seven times before I could arouse you.” I raised on my elbow, 
and listened. I did, indeed, hear footsteps, and a low, plaintive 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 175 

voice. I rose from the bed, and looked through the window. A 
kind of glittering mist, faintly gilded by the moon's rays, 
had settled over the landscape. I raised the curtain, which 
hung over the side window, and down towards the garden ; I 
saw a tall figure moving in the pale moonlight. I saw directly 
who it was, and knew why he was there. It was the heart- 
sick Barrick : he had been to visit the spot where Emily 
slept, and was walking alone, meditating upon bygone days. 
I remained at the casement for some time after I explained to 
the affrighted maiden what was the matter, and I heard Major 
Barrick utter the following words : 

“ That majestic ghost-like pillar informs me that near it 
sleeps my Emily, my beautiful, my much-lamented bride ! 
'Tis finely sculptured, and so highly polished, it shines brightly 
in the moonlight, — fit emblem of the purity of her I fondly 
loved, and whose memory I cherish. Alas ! how transient 
are all of this world's beauties ! The golden chains of 
affectionate hopes that once interlinked my heart to that en- 
deared one, are all broken, save in memory. How short and 
vain is life ! Oh, how have I suffered from disappointment ! 
How faded the delicately colored roses that once tinged her 
snowy cheeks ! How dim now are those large, soft, gazelle-like 
eyes, and those intellectual glances ! All are now under the 
clods of death’s valley. Can it be so ? Can those ravishing 
beauties now be hidden under the eternal gloom of death ? Is 
that musical voice for ever hushed, and does the loathsome 
worm now riot upon those sweet lips, where once bloomed the 
freshest flowers ? 0 Death ! how cruel was thy triumph ! 

Youth and beauty, joy and blooming hope, lie yonder a victim 
to thy darts. Thy darksome prison now confines a gentle 
captive; instead of the downy bridal couch, the damp chilly 
earth is her resting-place, dust and corruption now conceal her 
from him who would have been her devoted husband. But 
hark ! is that her voice I hear in the night-zephyr, — or what is 
it ? Something seems to breathe near me : I hear it say, ‘ Calm 


176 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


your thoughts. Emily’s spirit hovers over you ; she is happy, 
— be ye, therefore, tranquil ; she slumbers on couches of fra- 
grant flowers ; the angels sing anthems around her, and per- 
fumes, with soft, transporting strains of music, are perpetually 
wafting from the surrounding beatific worlds, to me in my 
celestial home.’ ” I now saw that he approached the house ; 
he advanced, and stood opposite my window ; he cast many 
mournful looks in that direction, then his majestic form glided 
off into the deep shades. In conversation, I had been told by 
Miss Morris — now Mrs. Kipton — that Major Barrick was an 
amateur flutist, and that she had often heard that there was a 
favorite bower, covered with vines of honeysuckle, rose, and 
sweet jasmine, on that side of the yard, before the new mansion 
was built at Green Haven ; that it was also opposite to Emily’s 
chamber’; and thither Barrick used to repair when he was 
addressing Miss Emily, and sit for hours serenading her. I 
sympathized very deeply with the mournful solitaire, and con- 
cluded (with the poet) that Barrick was one of those persons 
“ sickened with gaudy scenes,” and at that still, sad hour, was 

“ Led by choice to take his fav’rite walk 
Beneath Death’s gloomy, silent cypress shades, 

Unpierced by Vanity’s fantastic ray! 

To read his monument, * * * 

* * * and dwell among the tombs.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The light morning clouds that overhung the disk of the sun, 
looking like a thin veil of burnished gossamer, soon floated 
away. I arose early to bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Kipton, 
who intended leaving Green Haven before breakfast. I walked 
with Miss Amy to the parlors, where the family and visiters were 
assembled. All the household were there, except the lady of 
the mansion; and the departure of all the brides in the State 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


177 


would not have induced her to rise earlier than her customary 
hour. She had said “good-bye” to Mrs. Kipton overnight; 
and when we were all in sadness and tears at seeing the bride 
leave, Mrs. Manville was slumbering softly in the embraces of 
Somnus, under the white and scarlet banners that waved 
around her empress-like couch. Lizette stood on one side of 
Mrs. Kipton, and little Ada sat on a divan at her feet ; she 
hung her head in tears. Captain Kipton was, for a short time, 
conversing with Colonel Manville and Dr. Finlay. I said 
to myself, the bridegroom looks happy, for the cheerful ex- 
pression of his manly countenance evinces his satisfaction with 
his choice. Miss Amy now commenced tying on her straw 
hat, and seemed anxious to leave — not only Green Haven, but 
that haven of single misery, where her spirit had long been 
exhausted of its patience, in the vortex of hope and despair. 
Barrick looked very serious, said but little, hut behaved with 
the most captivating dignity. He shook hands with Colonel 
Manville in the most feeling and cordial manner ; and when he 
parted with Dr. Finlay, I heard the latter say, “ Farewell, Eu- 
genius ; may you be happy !” Lizette and Ada still clung to 
Mrs. Kipton weeping, and begging her to return soon to Green 
Haven, forgetting at the moment that their good uncle Charles 
was expected every day to return, and carry them to Manville 
Hall. They loved “ Miss Anna,” as they still called Mrs. 
Kipton ; but the moment drew near for her to take leave of 
them ; then she kissed me, and playfully whispered, “ Adieu, 
Miss Louise ! I still cherish the presentiment, that if I should 
ever meet you again upon the broad arena of life, you will then 
be Mrs. Finlay !” 


CHAPTER XXYI. 


After Mrs. Kipton had gone, I repaired to my room to me- 
ditate. It was now assigned me as my own room. We now 


178 


LOUISE elton; 


had a thin household at Green Haven. Dr. Finlay’s office was 
about one hundred paces from the mansion. Colonel Manville’s 
overseer was ill, and his agricultural responsibilities called him 
the greater portion of the day upon the plantation. Mrs. 
Manville, Lizette, Ada, and myself were often the only occu- 
pants of this late gay mansion. The neighborhood was com- 
posed of many wealthy planters ; but they lived at a considerable 
distance from each other, consequently (except upon some fes- 
tival occasion), they very seldom visited each other in a social 
way. I was pleased with the arrangement I had made with 
Mr. Charles Manville, and I was eager for the days to depart 
that I might repair to his house. There was something of an 
antique and gloomy character in the history of Manville 
Hall, and the account I had heard of its secluded and ro- 
mantic situation, made many images of turrets, spires, moss- 
grown towers, and ivy-curtained walls, rise in my imagination. 
The bell announcing breakfast now rung. I entered the apart- 
ment where we always ate, and found all the family at table, 
and Mrs. Manville, like the old Fadladeen of “ Lalla Rookh,” 
in a morose humor, and in one of her “ loftiest moods of criti- 
cism.” — “ Well, Miss Elton,” said Colonel Manville, “Mrs. 
Kipton has left us; I am pleased that she has married so well, 
and regard myself as being peculiarly fortunate that you are 
here to take charge of Lizette and Ada.” 

“ Now, I do not know,” said Mrs. Manville, “ whether you 
should offer to yourself so many gratulations or not, Colonel 
Manville, for I assure you I am not altogether satisfied with 
Miss Elton, particularly her religious principles ; for I can say 
that she has just as good as told me, roundly, that she will not 
teach Lizette and Ada religion.” — “ That meets my most 
hearty approbation,” said Colonel Manville, greatly to my re- 
lief. “ I wish my daughters well educated, Miss Elton,” con- 
tinued he ; “I desire that they are first made familiarly ac- 
quainted with the English language. I request you, if you 
please, to purchase a spelling-book apiece for them, make them 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 179 

proficients in orthography and orthoepy ; then teach them to 
read and write correctly ; when they know how to spell, read, 
and write, you may then put them to studying arithmetic, 
geography, history, grammar, &c., &c. Miss Morris has been 
so much afflicted with ophthalmia for about fifteen months, 
that she has been unable to attend closely to Lizette and Ada, 
consequently they are backward in their learning. I hope you 
will bring them on regularly : that is the way my first daughters 
were educated ; it is my plan ; His the plan of the English and 
Scotch; and, I find amongst the most thoroughly educated 
people of the United States, that it is just what they call ‘ The 
Old Virginia plan/ I do not care what your charges are, nor 
how many embellishments you beautify the minds of my 
daughters with, provided that you first instruct them well in 
the rudiments of education. I prefer their crawling before 
they walk, especially in the paths of education. I have no re- 
quest to make about their religion. When they are old enough 
they may connect themselves with any denomination they think 
proper. I never coerce my children, or restrict them in 
their ideas of religion. My eldest daughters were members 
of the Roman Catholic Church; they were every one pious, 
intelligent, and virtuous women. I do not ask you, Miss 
Elton, to evangelize for Lizette and Ada; by no means; only 
fill the office of governess towards them and myself, and all 
will be well. Miss Morris, or rather Mrs. Kipton, resided in 
my family a great while ; and when her health was good enough 
for her to teach, I admired her course very much. I am happy, 
however, that she has married Greorge Kipton.” Mrs. Man- 
ville did not speak for a great while. I saw from her actions 
that she was displeased at the remarks of Colonel Manville, 
but it was one of those times when the sovereignty of a hus- 
band resumes its throne, and there was something so decisive 
and commanding in his manners and voice, that even the rest- 
less and domineering spirit of the irascible wife was checked, 
and an innate monitor bade her be silent. At length, she re- 
covered a few more of her words of contention, and spoke. 


180 


LOUISE ELTON; 


il Yes,” said she, curving her thin lips, “ I think you ought to 
he happy, as the old maid is surely married ; she came to this 
country as a sick-nurse ; you brought her here penniless ; she 
has made a little fortune out of your purse, and you have mar- 
ried her to a rich merchant. I’m happy, also, that she has 
gone ; and when I heard the wheels of the carriage that bore 
her off rattle over the gravel walks, this morning, I could not 
help thinking of the remarks of Miss Martineau, who was so 
astonished at the wealth and plenty of the American people. 
She wrote home to England, 1 Happy is the country where 
factory girls carry parasols, and pig-drivers wear spectacles/ 
Then that trifling, abusive fellow, Marryat, came over here 
without a shilling, and wrote a comment upon the people of 
this Union. In his book of lampoonery, he says : u How much 
more happy must be that country where a little black boy of 
nine months old wears Valenciennes lace at the bottom of his 
trousers/ Poor English wretches, thought I ; and how much 
more happy ought your nation to be when she can land her 
women here, beggars, sick-nurses, and common school mis- 
tresses ; where they marry rich merchants, and are rolled off 
in fine carriages, attired in fine linens, laces, jewelry, and vel- 
vets/’ — “ Very good, my dear,” said Colonel Manville; “ ‘ All’s 
well that ends well,’ you recollect, do you not ? Miss Anna, 
then, was worthy of a good husband on either side of the 
ocean ; her own merits have won George Kipton ; ’tis a first- 
rate match ; for Anna is a prudent, sensible, affectionate woman, 
and I have no hesitation in saying, that I believe the Captain 
will often be heard to exclaim, happy man that I am, because 
Mother England has sent me so good a wife as the woman I 
found at Green Haven.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“ The autumnal months had nearly gone by, with their pro- 
fusion of flowers, leaves, and fruits. The once soft green 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 181 

foliage of the trees had faded beneath the feverish influence of 
the southern sunbeams. November had come and gone. Its 
chilling gales had dried the sap of the foliage, and the earth 
now looked as if ^Eolus, or some other invisible god of the 
wind, had confusedly scattered the nuts and leaves over the 
earth. I was in the habit of strolling about the garden 
in the evening. I went frequently to the monuments also. 
There was something in the appearance of those tall, white 
stones, which always caused a serious cast of thought to steal 
over me. I loved to walk round them, and read the names of 
the dear dead, whom they hid from my sight ; but in whose his- 
tories I had been as much interested as if I had been per- 
sonally acquainted with them. The grass about the base of 
these monuments seemed to have a melancholy wave. I thought 
the little beds, covered with ivy and myrtle, appeared to have 
leaves of a deeper and more sombre hue than anywhere else ; 
then, as the evening winds arose and shook the vine which Kate 
had wreathed around the stone, it, too, sounded mournfully, as it 
quivered against the white pillar. As I was entering the yard, I 
was met by Lizette and Ada, who were coming, they said, “ to 
see ma’s grave.” Ada was a child of extraordinary beauty ; 
more perfectly beautiful than Lizette ; but there was something 
of the commanding and lofty in Lizette, something queenly. 
She spoke and acted as if she was impelled by an innate di- 
vinity, who whispered to her that she was born to be command- 
ing in her manners, and to govern something or somebody. 
Lizette was of a rounder form than Ada, and she was remark- 
ably straight. Like all the Manvilles, Ada had large, rich 
black eyes; but there was a mischievous glance in Lizette* s 
eyes which belonged not to Ada. When Lizette was in a glee- 
ful mood, which was often the case, I loved to notice her eyes 
as they sparkled under her long eyelashes, and I have often 
said to her, “ Lizette, you laugh as much with your eyes as you 
do with your lips.” I was happy to meet them at the gate, 
and encouraged them to go on and look at the monuments. 

16 


182 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Just before I left them, said I, “ Ada, do you recollect your 
mother V ’ — “ 0 yes, Miss Elton, I recollect my ma,” said she ; 
“ and Aunt Dorcas tells me every day that I must not forget 
ma. She says we lost our best friend when ma died. Aunt 
Dorcas tries to make me remember how Sisters Emily and 
Lavinia looked. She says I must pattern after them, because 
I favor both of them. She says I am the very picture of Sister 
Lavinia; and when I walked away from her, the other day, 
across the portico, old Aunty said, f Dear me, master ought to 
change your name to Lavinia, you look so much like poor Miss 
Finny/ ” — “ Which of your sisters do you resemble, Lizette ?” 
said I. — “0,” said Lizette, “in temper, pa says I am like 
Sister Julia; that I remind him, in my form and walk, of 
Sister Emily more than Ada does. Pa thinks we all resemble 
our mother, with the exception of our hair and eyes. We 
every one have the ‘Manville eye/ pa says.” They then 
ran into the garden; and as I had been accustomed to walk 
down the gravelled road every evening, since the departure of 
Mrs. Kipton, looking for my brother, I strolled off to the front 
yard and commenced my lonely promenade. I wished for Alva 
to come back to Grreen Haven ; for it seemed to me I had had a 
great dream, which I was growing impatient to relate. I knew, 
however, that he was capable of taking care of himself, and as 
such good fortune had attended me, I concluded to stimulate 
afresh the organ of contentment, and wait till he returned to 
conduct me home. I was joined, after awhile, by Dr. Finlay, 
and we promenaded around the circle in the yard. “Louise,” 
said he, “do you take any interest in contemplating the cause 
of the ensanguined color of the leaves with which the earth is 
now dyed ?” 

“ 0 yes, Doctor,” I replied, “ I am deeply interested in all 
the works of Nature. I was thinking about the scarlet leaves 
when you first came up. I will tell you, too, what my reflec- 
tions were. Do you not know that Scorpio is one of the signs 
of the zodiac ? Well, the Chaldeans thought that when the 


OR; THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


183 


sun entered that sign, that it sent on the world all manner of 
frightful diseases. You know the sickly season of this country 
is generally in the fall, when the fruits are so abundant; and 
we often say people are sickly because they have so many 
fruits ; they indulge in eating them so freely and imprudently 
that they grow sick. The Chaldeans and Egyptians believed 
this sign sent disease and death upon them, hence their saying, 
‘ that when Scorpio recedes, he wounds with the sting in his 
tail/ I thought it was as reasonable in me to say that these 
red leaves which lie here under my feet have been stung by 
the scorching beams of the sun, or poisoned by the sting of 
Scorpfo, and that they seemed to be wounded, and stained with 
their own blood .” — u You love to admire the planets, and 
stars too, do you not, Louise V* said Dr. Finlay. — “ Indeed I 
do, Doctor,” replied I ; u and when I am travelling I watch 
them all night, especially if I am in a stage-coach, for then I 
cannot sleep. I recollect, upon one ocasion, I had my veil 
torn from my bonnet, as I leaned out of the window of the 
stage to gaze upon one of the softest and most beautiful stars 
which bespangles the heavens. I refer to Fomalhault. It is 
a nautical star, between the first and second magnitude, right 
in the mouth of Pisces Australis. Its light is soft and gentle. 
I watch it during the summer, till it culminates in the fall. 
It is my favorite star; — now, tell me which is a favorite 
of yours, Doctor?” — “ I have no particular favorites,” said 
he, u amongst the stars separately. My greatest favorite 
yonder,” continued he, pointing upwards, “ is Corona Borealis. 
I love that little semicircle that glitters so beautifully. I 
also love the history of it. It is named in honor of the 
crown presented by Bacchus to Ariadne, the daughter of 
Minos, the king of Crete. I knew a gentleman once,” con- 
tinued Dr. Finlay, “ who loved a lady, and a little circum- 
stance connected with the name of Ariadne and the Northern 
Crown, always affected him in after life.” — “ Why did they not 
get married, Doctor?” said I. “ Carelessness on his part,” 


184 


LOUISE ELTON; 


■was his reply; “and, indeed,” continued he, “it was a lesson 
to him. The lady loved him devotedly. She waited, of 
course, for him to make an avowal of love to her ; but some 
men are of this disposition, Louise : they wait, they consult, 
they hope, they promise, they love; yes, they adore the softer 
sex ; they have a natural yearning to be loved in return by 
some one ; they desire to be the chosen of one affectionate 
heart ; they waste a lifetime in drawing plans, in dreams, and 
in inquiries ; and at last look around, and, like the enchanted 
Belides, after their days of toilsome labor, discover that they 
have been drawing water in sieves ; that their vessels are 
destitute of ground-work, or, to use the Scripture term, ‘ they 
have hewn unto themselves cisterns, broken cisterns that hold 
no water/ To confess the truth to you, Louise, I was once at 
the environs of happiness myself. I had nothing to do but to 
unlatch the gate and walk in ; but I kept loitering without, 
thinking the scenes on the outer side might interest me a little 
longer. After awhile night — 0 ! the darkest of nights ! — 
came on, and I lost the track I so lately had trod ! I sat 
down, and after a little time, I was so favored by fortune — that 
fair goddess — that she sent a great genius, who raised me on 
his shoulders above the walls of the garden. I then saw the 
Hesperian apples, of luscious, golden appearance. I saw I had 
nothing to do but to reach forth, and pluck that one which hung 
swinging near me. I gazed on it with admiration. I said to 
myself, ‘Such heavenly fruit will never wither, and I will 
gather it after awhile/ I even, at that propitious moment, 
Louise, concluded to wait, and I again sat down upon the earth 
without having enriched myself.” — I saw that the scorpion of 
regret had left it's sting within the heart of my worthy friend, 
and I knew that his own reflections sickened him. Miss 
Morris (as she then was, when she told me the story of Dr. 
Finlay) had made me acquainted with his unfortunate loss of 
Louise Banthier. I therefore changed the subject of the con- 
versation, and said, “ Doctor, which of the male poets of the 
old world do you most admire ?” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


185 


Said he, “.When I wish to feast my mind on the stupendous 
and grand, I read Milton ; when I desire to he refreshed in 
antiquated legends and stirring romances, I read Scott ; when 
I wish to feed my rural mental appetite, and cull something 
sweet and unvitiated in simplicity, I select the poems of Robert 
Burns ; if I feel in the ethereal humor, and wish to soar beyond 
the beauties of this earth, and swing for awhile in the blue 
ether upon strings of silver, or inhale the exquisite fragrance 
from bowers of Elysium, Shelley is then selected ; when I tune 
the strings of my sentimental lute, I listen many a time in 
delicious transport, as it re-echoes the fervor and harmony in 
the verses of Thomas Moore ; I read Shakspeare when I dis- 
cover myself growing dull in many of the affairs of ordinary 
life ; when the fire of love seems to be burning out within my 
heart, Byron furnishes me with a substance which quickly 
ignites the dying embers. I admire the lyrics of Pindar an#l 
Terpander ; I often renew my acquaintance with old iEschylus, 
the father of the tragic muse ; I think, in sublimity of thought, 
that Dante is almost, if not entirely, equal to Milton ; I read 
Tasso with deep interest, and often roam over the consecrated 
sonnets of Petrarch. Many a time has my poetic spirit been 
rocked to sleep, lulled by the gentle fragrance of Virgil ; but, 
above all, when I wish to revivify my mind, and gild it with 
brighter light, I collect in my glass the finer rays that beam 
from the sun of Homer.” I could have remained much longer 
in the society of Dr. Pinlay, for I wanted to go with him over the 
whole arena of science and literature, but, to my mortification 
and surprise, I heard the great clock of the mansion strike 
ten. We had been on the portico and around the gravel walks 
for four hours. u What an imprudent act in me !” said I to 
myself, “ to stay out so late.” I was really provoked; but my 
enthusiasm was so great when the sciences of botany and 
astronomy were mentioned, that it seemed as if I would never 
wish to eat or sleep, if I met a friend with whom I could con- 
verse upon the beauty, grandeur, and mystery which they 

16 * 


186 


LOUISE ELTON; 


develope. Said I, 11 Doctor, why did you not remind me that 
it was growing so late ?” — “ Never mind,” said he, “ the family 
have not yet retired. Colonel Manville is reading, I hear him. 
Listen, Louise, do you not hear him too ?” I did not stay to 
listen ; I hade the Doctor a hasty good-night, ran off to my 
room, and as soon as possible I retired. I could not go to 
sleep either, for I had begun to think anxiously about Alva 
and home. I knew the family at Green Haven were hourly 
expecting Mr. Charles Manville to return; that he was to 
carry Lizette and Ada to Manville Hall; that Colonel Manville 

and lady were preparing to visit , to spend the ensuing 

winter, and in a short time Green Haven would hear my vale- 
dictory, — then, thought I, poor Dr. Finlay, will he remain here 
entirely alone ? I would have given a good deal to have asked 
him if he intended staying at Green Haven by himself, but I 
afraid he might think I had a motive in asking him, so I 
reluctantly suppressed my interrogation. I quieted my mind, 
however, by concluding that the Doctor had been trained in 
the academy of that celebrated old philosopher, Anaxagoras, 
who placed the supreme good of life in contemplation. I 
believed that he loved solitude — that he loved to be alone, and 
where he could secretly indulge his thoughts, — thoughts of 
Louise Banthier; for, when he spoke of Ariadne and the 
Northern Crown, his recollections revived, and he was deeply 
affected. I concluded that when the day-dream of earlier years 
hovered over him, he loved to woo the phantom ; and I knew 
that he loved to meditate upon his lost Louise. My belief, 
too, was exactly like those who declare that the rays of first 
love are inextinguishable, and who believe its impressions rarely, 
if ever, are obliterated. I could not sleep without reprimanding 
myself again for spending four hours out of doors with Dr. 
Finlay, and all the excuse I had to satisfy myself with was, 
my great love and admiration for the sciences, and the interest 
which always overwhelmed me when I met with one so highly 
gifted, and whose intellect was so richly draperied, as I found 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


187 


Dr. Finlay's to be, that I unconsciously revelled away the 
hours, banqueting upon the luxuries of his mind. “He is one," 
said I, “with whom we seldom meet in this world; one who 
can ‘soar aloft and swing on contemplation;' who delights to 
i climb the heights of yonder starry road,' and to ‘rise through 
nature up to nature’s God.' " This is the history of the mind 
of Dr. Finlay, the only species of intellect capable of buffeting 
the waves of life's briny ocean, — the only description of the 
mind of an associate, especially of an intellectual cast, for whom 
I ever cherish a heart-burning wish. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

In a few days, sure enough, Mr. Manville arrived again at 
Green Haven ; with him came Miss Matilda Manville, an old 
maiden sister, Mrs. Newland, his widowed sister (who was 
quite an old lady also), all bound for Manville Hall, which was 
their home sometimes for years. “ Brother Charles," was the 
idol of the family ; every one looked up to him ; all consulted 
him, and all were interested by him. I heard him inquire for 
me soon after he came on the lower portico. I was in the 
library with Lizette and Ada. He came to the door. I saluted 
him and invited him to walk in. He kissed Lizette and Ada, 
sat down, and held one on each side of him. He pressed them 
to him, and a sweet, innocent smile illumined their wonted 
downcast faces. They were happy, because Uncle Charles had 
come to carry them away ; happy to find one heart upon which 
their pretty little heads could peacefully and securely repose. 
They began to tell their uncle that “ dear pa" was going to let 
their aunt Dorcas go with them to Manville Hall, and that 
as soon as the spring opened, their “ Uncle Doctor" was going 
to see Sister Kate, and would carry “ all of ma's servants to 
her." “ Then," said Ada, “ pa's wife will not have any of us 
here to abuse ; and Uncle Doctor is going to carry ma's por- 


188 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


trait to Sister Kate. He took it out of the garret the other day, 
and it hangs in his office over the mantel-piece. Lizette and I 
go there every day to see it; and after we say our evening 
lessons, and Lizette practises her guitar lessons, Aunt Dorcas 
takes us walking, and we go to the graves.” As I always had 
a religious love for children, I felt a secret cord of affection 
already winding itself about my heart for Lizette and Ada, and 
I had to turn aside to wipe away the tears that gathered in my 
impulsive eyes. I rejoiced to see these children happy. Their 
sweet, rich black eyes seemed to reflect the rays of kindness 
which glowed in the soft, benevolent-looking orbs of their 
heavenly-minded uncle, as they were enjoying his affectionate 
caresses. I thought of two little beautiful pea-blossoms, which 
had lain all night on the cool, damp ground, that became 
cheered and revivified by the morning’s sun ; they looked 
chilled many a time ; but when the good horticulturist comes 
along, and raises them upon frames, and the rays of old Sol 
come down, then the tyrannical and untimely frosts of April 
are subdued; the flower produces fruit, and the board of 
the mansion is furnished with a delicate vegetable in due sea- 
son. Mr. Manville began to insist on my going home with 
him from Green Haven ; but I told him it was impossible, that 
I had not seen my mother for so long, having been closely en- 
gaged in the county of , in the South, as a governess ; 

that my mother resided with my married brother, and that I 
must go and visit her before I could go to Manville Hall. I 
was greatly pleased to learn that Mr. Manville intended stop- 
ping a week or more at Green Haven, in order to allow Miss 
Matilda and Mrs. Newland an opportunity to spend some socia- 
ble hours in the society of Colonel Manville, who was also their 
brother ; but whose second marriage seemed to have somewhat 
cut him off from the nearest relatives of his household ; for 
no matter who came, if Madam took a notion that Colonel 
Manville neglected her for a moment she would go into spasms, 
and likely as not keep him up all night, acting as sick-nurse. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


189 


Dr. Finlay was often called in to prescribe for her, but having 
made her very angry upon one occasion, she declared him to be 
no better informed upon medicine and disease than old Glas- 
gow, a servant belonging to one of her brothers, who cured 
toothache and rheumatism by taking the patient to a tree, 
boring a gimlet-hole in it, and placing a lock of the patient’s 
hair in the hole. The tree had to be a young one too, and as 
it grew the pain in the tooth and the rheumatism left the pa- 
tient. She had medicine from her old family physician, which 
always relieved her, if Colonel Manville would only administer 
it right. She wanted nothing to do with Dr. Finlay; he 
let nine of her negroes die during the sickly season, one 
fall, and she had called him a quack ever since, and hated him 
because he gave her pills made of that abominable assafoetida, 
as he pretended he believed she had hypochondria. I was quite 
at my ease when I heard that Mr. Manville was going to stay, 
perhaps ten days, at Green Haven. I knew that Lizette and 
Ada were going away when Mr. Manville and his sisters left, 
and there would be no one there to engage my attention ; I 
knew that Alva was detained longer than he expected, for I 
had heard from him in the mean time, and he informed me that 

Mr. Lampton had gone a second time to the city of , to 

get the money he had owed my father; I recollected our po- 
verty too, and endeavored to content myself with the argument 
that my brother was using every effort to collect the debt, and 
also, courting a beautiful, worthy girl, and I became satisfied, 
spite of my impatience to see him, to be on our road home- 
ward, and my anxiety to embrace once more an affectionate 
mother. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

On the second evening after Mr. Manville came to Green 
Haven, my brother arrived also ; I had put on my cottage 


190 


LOUISE ELTON; 


bonnet, and my short cloak, and was just going around the 
circle in the front yard, to take my evening walk, and look 
for Alva, when I saw him come dashing along in a new buggy, 
the plating on it glittering in the evening sun, and a gay, fine- 
looking, beautiful, bay horse. “ Well, well,” thought I, “ Alva 
has got his money, he returns in so much better style than he 
left.” I ran to him — sprung into the vehicle, fell on his breast, 
and wept for joy ; my heart filling with gratitude, I breathed a 
prayer of thanksgiving to Heaven for his safe and profitable 
journey. “Well, sister, you look as if you were in perfect 
health,” said Alva. — “ I have been very well, dear brother,” 
said I; “how are you, and how many chills have shaken you 
since I saw you?” — “I have had four; I am well, however, 
and what do you think cured me ? I went down home with 
Hoff and Upperton, and whenever I was well enough I was out 
visiting the ladies ; for, Louise, you never saw such fine society 

as they have at . Well, one day, when the chill was 

about to come on, Hoff said “Alva, come, and take a ride 
with me ? I intend presenting you with that fine, bay horse 
at the stile there ; come and ride him ; he paces delight- 
fully.” I never dreamed of what Roff was at, of course ; so I 
went along with him, got in the saddle, and the first thing I 
knew, Roff jumped on behind me. I thought he was only at 
some of his customary mischief, but he gave the high mettled 
steed a cut with a huge whip he held in his hand, then stuck his 
great Mexican spur into him, and such another 1 John G-ilpin’ of 
a race, you never saw in your life. He trotted me for ten miles 
at the top of Red Jacket’s speed; I cursing, begging, and 
often praying to him to stop, and to know what in the name of 
civilization he meant. But on we went, as hard as we could 
make Red Jacket trot — for he could no more pace than a hog. 
After awhile, I told Roff, I would jump off, or roll off, for I was 
so nigh exhausted, I could scarcely sit up ; I told him I was 
in a profuse perspiration, and weak enough to die. “ Oh, well,’’ 
exclaimed he, “ then your chill is broken, and that is why I 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 191 

have made Red Jacket trot with you. I’ll bet you’ll never have 
another chill ; and now that we are in sight of Harry Upper- 
ton s, we will just trot to his house and stay all night. ” Well, 
we trotted up to Harry’s, and dismounted; we found him at 
home, and as it had been a plan between them to get me well 
jolted to break my chill, Upperton came running out, with a 
cunning smile on his lips, playfully saying, 1 Well, Alva, when 
had you a chill V I got into the house as soon as I could, 
had a cup of hot sage-tea made, and I have had no symptom 
of a chill from that day to this. Ho you see this fine buggy, 
Louise ? Harry made me a present of it, and Roff gave me the 
horse. Ho you see these fine clothes too ? Mr. Lampton gave 
them to me ; he purchased them in Mobile ; he paid me the 
money too, and the interest on it; and his son Warren Lamp- 
ton, has sent a watch, worth one hundred and sixty dollars, to 
our brother George, who is named in honor of his father, and 
grandfather; and Evelina Weston, and Charlotte Northby 
have sent to you, mother, and brother George’s wife, a host of 
little presents. Ho you recollect Evelina and Charlotte? 
Louise, they are both married, and reside on plantations ad- 
joining old Mr. Lampton, their father. I am engaged to 
be married too, Louise, and the 1 old folks’ have consented. 
What better luck could mortal have had, than your brother 
Alva.” 

“None,” I replied. I had not spoken for a longtime, I 
was so rejoiced to see Alva, and been so much interested in his 
account of his friends, &c., I could not speak. After awhile 
we got out of the buggy, and I conducted Alva into my room 
to the fire, he remarking, “ Louise, you look and act as if you 
were at home ; have you married anybody since I saw you ?” 
— “No, nothing like it,” replied I, “ but the former governess 
has married since you were here, and she has gone with her * 
husband, Captain Kipton, to Hariin, Georgia. I am in her 
place ; and when we get home and see mother, brother, and his 
family, you must carry me to Manville Hall. I have consented 


192 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


to go there, and stay four years, to educate Lizette and Ada, 
the younger daughters of Colonel Manville. Their sister, who 
was married the morning you left here, requests that they may 
never he brought to Green Haven any more ; their stepmother 
is unkind to them ; and I learn that Colonel Manville is going 
to divide property with his married daughter, send Lizette and 
Ada home with his pious old brother, and that when Lizette 
is sixteen years of age, he intends to send her to Philadelphia. 
Ada is to go, if her health is restored by that time. She is a 
delicate child, and everybody thinks she will have the con- 
sumption, like her two elder sisters, who have died with it. 
After they are thoroughly educated, they are to reside with 
their married sister or other relations.” I then rung my bell 
for a servant, whom I requested to go and inform Colonel Man- 
ville that my brother had come. I knew the hour for tea wa3 
at hand, and I did not wish Alva to go to the table until he 
had seen the master of the house. The Colonel came directly, 
and Dr. Finlay also ; and both welcomed him back to Green 
Haven. Then Dr. Finlay reminded him, that there was still 
a bottle of brandy about the mansion, and that if Alva 
thought proper they would commemorate the eve of their first 
acquaintance, by partaking of another social glass. After sup- 
per, we all assembled above stairs in the parlors. Alva had 
no young lady to talk to this time, so he cornered Miss Matilda 
Manville. In about half an hour, perhaps, Colonel and Mr. 
Charles Manville left us. I heard the Colonel say, “ Brother, 
walk to the library with me.” Mrs. Newland, who was 
often sick, retired early, and then Dr. Finlay had an oppor- 
tunity to talk to me alone. The Doctor could play backgam- 
mon, and so could I. We lifted a small table into the upper 
parlor (as Miss Matilda and Alva thought to play). We did 
# not pay, however, very strict attention to the game. I saw that 
Dr. Finlay’s mind was roving. He was one of the “ brags” of 

the State of , but I gammoned him the first game. 

Said I, “ Doctor, that’s a great victory for me. I have heard 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 193 

4 

that Colonel Manville plays a splendid game at backgammon, 
and that you are considered his superior.” — “You play very 
well, Louise,” said the Doctor. The second game I gammoned 
him again. I laughed at him very heartily ‘ and he smiled at 
my being so much amused at him. I was, however, not laugh- 
ing so heartily at my success in out-playing him, as I was at 
the mechanical roll he gave his great blue eyes at me over the 
frames of his spectacles. There was something inexpressibly 
amusing in the manner he had of rolling his great eyes at me 
over his glasses. I never knew what it was, but whenever I 
saw him cast such glances at me I always ran away from him, 
or buried my face in my handkerchief and laughed at him. I 
saw him make a wrong play several times ; twice he ought to 
have played six and four in his table, and closed an important 
point, but he played his men on the points, making six and 
five. Again, when the dice gave him the advantage of me, and 
he ought to have played six and one, and closed the point in 
the corner of his table, and prevented me from running with 
my men, he played his six in the corner, and would not move 
the ace upon it from the cinque point, but played an ace from 
the cinque point in the table, which gave me an opportunity to 
take his men ; for luck, the next throw with the dice, gave me 
four and six, and I triumphantly lifted two of his men from 
the board. Said I, “ Doctor, you have played carelessly, on 
purpose, have you not ? You have let me gammon you twice, 
and I am in a fair way of doing so the third time ; my ace, 
deuce, tray, and six points are closed ; you have thrown tray 
ace, and cannot enter either of your men, and I have now an- 
other throw ahead of you.” 

“ Well, Louise,” said Dr. Finlay, “ I believe I can beat you, 
but really my thoughts are not on the game to night, or rather 
not on the game of backgammon. Suppose we quit, Louise ; I 
acknowledge myself vanquished, and I know that you have too 
much generosity to exult over me ; however, I take pleasure in 
surrendering to you,” and at this time Miss Matilda bade 

17 


194 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


us “good night,” and Alva also retired, leaving me alone 
with Dr. Finlay. “ Let us walk to the balcony, Louise,” said 
he; and as we stood in the soft light which shone upon us 
from the moon, listening to the roar of the distant winds 
sweeping over the woodlands, Dr. Finlay said to me, “ You are 
going away to-morrow, are you, Louise?” — “Yes, sir,” re- 
plied I, — “I hope there is no doubt,” said he, “that you 
will go to Mr. Manville’s and take charge of Lizette and Ada ?” 
— “None, sir, that I now know of.” — “ I regret,” said he, “ to 
see you leave us, and that I have not sought your society oftener ; 
but I hope I shall see you again. It is a duty I owe my de- 
ceased sister, to visit Lizette and Ada ; besides, I am ardently 
attached to them, and shall certainly visit them as often as my 
profession will allow me, when they go to Manville Hall. I 
would rather see you have the care of Lizette and Ada, than 
any one I know of. Dear old Manville Hall,” continued Dr. 
Finlay, “ many, many and happy, have been the hours and days 
that I have passed there.” I assured him that I would go 
to Manville Hall after I had made a visit to my mother. 
“ Then,” said the Doctor, “ let us go into the parlor.” I thought 
he was for another long talk, and as I had reproved myself so 
severely for staying out too late with him the week before, I 
determined to excuse myself. Said I, “Doctor, I will have to 
rise early, to-morrow morning ; brother and I calculate on 
starting home ; I must bid you good night, and retire.” “ I 
am sad, Louise, at the thought of your leaving us; and,” 
said he, listlessly, “ how has it happened ? I really cannot tell. 
I feel an attachment. I wish I had been more sociable. 'Tis 
just like me, however; I acted thus foolishly with Louise 
Banthier.” Then recollecting himself, he said, “ I will visit 
Manville Hall, and see you there.” It shall not be later next 
year, than April, either, before I come,” I replied. “I thank 
you, Doctor, for your polite attention to my brother and myself. 
We were total strangers when we first came to Green Haven. 
I wish you may be a participant in all the happiness and pros- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


195 


perity that belong to this world.” “ Happiness !” said he ; 
“I once dreamed of it. When Emily, Lavinia, and Julia 
were here; when we were all at Manville Hall, and other 
friends were there ; I dreamed of happiness, then ; but the 
dark clouds that have gathered over me since those happy days, 
can never be dispelled. Oh ! Louise, if you have never been 
associated with dear family relations, whom you loved ; whose 
society was a kind of domestic paradise, whose bright eyes 
glittered at your approach, and whose merry laugh made the 
welkin ring, who now lie in the cold grave, you can form but 
little idea of the gloom that shades my heart at times. It 
seems unmanly in me to give way to such feelings, but those 
for whom I mourn were the daughters of my sister. I loved 
them, and they loved me. I was happy in their society, and 
many a time has my heart been pained when they were suffer- 
ing, and kept calling on me to do something for them. Alas ! 
it was out of my power to relieve them, and I have been com- 
pelled to give them up, to press them to my aching heart, and to 
kiss the cold and clammy dew of death from their marble brows. 
Who, then, Louise, can take a retrospect of the past, without 
feeling the heart sink under the recollection of so many happy 
hours ? I never could learn that species of philosophy in my 
life, which teaches us to say, ( Who cares for to-morrpw V and 
‘ Why remember the past !' Oh, no ! many a time the scenes 
of bygone days come up vividly before me, with all their 
changes, their gaiety, their sadness, their hopes, and disappoint- 
ments. ; Tis then that I have some gloomy hours, Louise.” 
u I regret,” said I, u that the clouds of life have darkened your 
pathway ; but recollect, we must all suffer in this world more 
or less ;” and as the moments were fast gliding away, I said, 
“ Doctor, do not be melancholy ; cheer up ; and in case you 
are from home to-morrow morning, on a professional call, I 
will bid you farewell.” He took both of my hands, which he 
shook in the most cordial manner, and then he sat down in the 
fine rocking-chair, — the same one on which he enthroned me 


196 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


the first evening of our arrival at Green Haven. As I was 
leaving the door, I paused a moment and gazed at him. He 
was a magnificent-looking gentleman, dear reader, and I felt as 
if I could not take a parting look at him without breathing a 
little short prayer in my heart ; then I hastened below to Mrs. 
Manville’s chamber, to say “farewell” to those around her. 
She gave me several charges about Lizette and Ada, and I listened 
to many expressions of kindness for my health, safe arrival at 
home, and speedy journey to Manville Hall, from Col. Manville 
and his venerable brother Charles. I went into the nursery, 
a little room adjoining Mrs. Manville’s, kissed Lizette and 
Ada, shook hands with old Aunt Dorcas and Lettie, and then in 
about twenty minutes I was asleep, dreaming of home, 

“ and my dear native bowers, 

And pleasures that waited on life’s merry morn.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

We arose early on the morning of our departure, and com- 
menced the journey homeward. As I was leaving Green Haven, 
I cast a farewell look at the mansion, which I could barely see 
through the fog of the morning, that enveloped its stately 
walls, like a thin gray veil. After the rising of the sun, how- 
ever, all nature seemed to look so beautiful that I began to 
enjoy its charms. The country over which we were travelling, 
to me became more and more interesting, and all the way I 
was deeply interested in the appearance of the beautiful scenes. 
The black bear of the South* had dyed his fawn-colored muzzle 
with the red juice of the ripe grape; he had fattened upon the 

* The black bear, after growing fat upon the luxuries of autumn, 
retires into its den, and remains during the winter. They take the 
precaution, however, to lay up an abundant supply of food, and keep 
closely incarcerated, till awakened by the perfumed breezes, and the 
songs of gay birds, the ensuing spring. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


197 


hazel-nuts, and had laid up an abundant supply of the rich 
muscadine to regale him during his hibernal incarceration. 
The sullen ground-hog had fallen asleep far off in the deep, 
solitary forest. The nimble squirrels were playing upon the 
limbs of the lofty chestnut trees, and the fish-hawk was en- 
croaching upon those tribes which glide through the dilucid 
streams. The gray eagle flew over the “ cloud capp’d” moun- 
tains with as much indifference as the rice-bird skimmed the 
southern lea. Now and then, the bird with ensanguined 
plumage, gilded with a greenish, golden hue, fluttered among 
the foliage of the dark pine trees; then the oriole, with its 
wings of gorgeous yellow and black beautifully interspersed, 
crossed our road. The omnivorous great crow blackbird was 
slyly peeping into the granaries, where the richest harvests had 
been gathered. The raven flew over the white sandy road, sha- 
dowing it with its dark wings, and the jocund notes of the 
thrush were re-echoed on the bosky hills. The golden, velvet- 
like plumage of the cedar-bird glittered amongst the lowly 
shrubs of whortleberry; and the mocking-birds, in little armies, 
had attacked the fortification of the black-snake, and with their 
bayonet-like bills were driving him from his strong fort.* The 

* The mocking-bird is much more common in a warm than a cold 
climate. In the Southern States they are often seen attacking the 
black-snake, which frequently interrupts them during their time of 
incubation, or whilst they are brooding over their young. They fly 
at the snake, striking it with their keen bills in the eyes, and about 
the mouth, till they completely vanquish it. Says an eminent writer, 
“ The snake soon becomes sensible of his danger, and seeks to escape ; 
but the intrepid bird redoubles his exertions, and as the snake’s 
strength begins to flag, he seizes and lifts it from the ground, beating 
it with his wings, and when the business is completed, he returns to 
his nest, mounts the summit of the bush, and pours out a torrent of 
song in token of victory.” They seem to wind themselves around the 
nests, seemingly conscious that their loathsome bodies have fortified 
the home of the birds, rendering an escape impracticable, till they are 
beaten off. 


17 * 


198 


LOUISE ELTON j 


passenger-pigeons, hungry and careworn, had colonized them- 
selves on the low plains, which were covered with ripe fruits, 
and nutritious kernels. The wild turkey had dined upon the 
green lizard, and was preparing to partake of a dessert of the 
aromatic seeds falling from the perfected pericarps which were 
left by the wild flowers in the greatest profusion. The hoarse 
notes of that winged trumpeter, the wild-goose, resounded 
through the air, seemingly crying, “ Winter ! winter ! winter !”* 
eloquently proclaiming the motive of its hurried migration to 
a softer and more genial clime. At intervals I noticed a 
huge, black walnut rising over the rich wet soil on the creek 
and river bottoms. The silver maple had shed its coat of 
leaves. The unhewn forests of pine, and the mournful old 
cypresses, hung their sad branches over the road, and for miles 
the country was draped in the melancholy, crape-like habili- 
ments of Spanish moss. It looked as if the wood-nymphs had 
just died, and that the few dryads who remained had hung the 
forests in deep mourning for their lamented death. Occasion- 
ally, the haggard American chestnut stretched its gigantic 
limbs across the lowly dales ; while the silvery texture of the 
catalpa, and the smooth, whitish bark of the magnolia, glowed 
through the hedges of underwood. The bright red berries 
were clustering on the china trees, an£ numerous branches had 
been torn from the trunk of the persimon by the weight of 
the fruit which loaded them so heavily. The coral tree and 
the palmetto lifted their heads above the lowlands, and 
the black larch and holly grew in wanton exuberance over the 
wide alluvial plains. All nature pleased me, and I delighted to 
contrast the lovely scenes over which we were passing with 

* The wild-goose lives in the North during the warm months. 
When the cutting frosts and bleak gales of autumn come on, they 
migrate in large flocks to the sunny South. There is always a leader, 
who flies in front of the flock, and is frequently heard to sound 
his harsh bugle-note, which seems to encourage those in the rear to 
follow. Some persons think the song of the wild-goose says “ Winter ! 
winter 1” which is a sufficient apology for its hurry from the North. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 199 

those of my own native land. Ours was a lovely country, too, 
and the thoughts of home often “ rushed on my nerves.” X 
saw, in fancy, in the springtime, our own lovely State; the 
fertile soil, where the white ash lifts its magisterial form, — 
where the wild cherry and the blackberry scatter their fruits, — 
where the black locust studs the earth with its durable stock, 
— where the varieties of maple shade the sod, — where the blue- 
bird and robin sing in the hedges, — where the deep, pellucid 
streams roll round the small green hills, — where perpetual 
fountains burst from the limestone rocks, — where the sleek 
mule capers over carpets of soft and luxuriant blue-grass, — 
where sheep, with their snowy fleeces, bespot the green mea- 
dows, and where the beautiful cattle drink the sweet dews from 
the red clover that blossoms on the extensive lawns, — where 
Ceres seems to have reared her summer palace beneath the 
shades of the lofty forests, — where the stranger often exclaims, 
“ Surely, this is the land that flows with milk and honey !” 
Header, this is the description of country whither my brother 
and myself were going, and the place we called our home. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

It was late in the afternoon of the last day of the year, that 
we were coming in sight of the residence of our brother. The 
tired-looking rays of the sun were then glimmering pale and 
low, on the snow-clad meadows ! “ This is the last day of the 

year,” said I to Alva; “did you think of it?” “Yes,” said 
he, “ the year is dying ! The chamber of Mars is robed in 
raven-like drapery ! The bier of Time now sits in the great 
hall of Nature, and its mournful figure is stretched upon it! 
Ay, Time’s spirit is fast sinking, and another year of its exis- 
tence will soon fall behind the curtain of darkness for ever ! 
Its mystic chariot has run another annual round ! Its impres- 
sive wheels, however, have deeply scarred the hearts of many, 


200 


LOUISE ELTON; 


and now, like others of its predecessors, the old year is falling 
into the still waters of Lethe ! What a theme for contempla- 
tion, Louise, especially if we take into consideration, the many 
sad events recorded in Time’s register : all the dark storms 
that gather over our political world ! ‘ Man’s inhumanity to 

man,’ the sorrows, sighs, and death of friends ! The ingra- 
titude of the world ! The sufferings of the sick, and the pains 
of the dying; the pale corpse; the white winding sheet; the 
sable coffin ; the dark hearse, the opening grave, the fall of the 
hard clod on the small, lowly roof of the dead-man’s tenement; 
the stone that notes the spot ; the yeto, the weeping willow, 
the cypress, the myrtle, and ivy, that clothe the grave, and 
the rains and dews from heaven, that moisten their foliage ! 
There is many an aged man, who, on the first day of this year 
arose in the fulness of health. The goddess Hygeia seemed 
to have built a favorite altar upon his demesne. Incense to 
health and buoyancy of spirits, was daily offered thereon, but 
alas ! one day the flame ceased to burn, and no healthful hand 
came to replenish the lamp, for the master was dead. I saw a 
devoted husband at the bedside of his dying wife, and I heard 
the sobs of innocent children sink on the midnight air ; then 
I was told there was a young wife who moistened the fevered 
brow of her dying husband with her tears. This grim intruder 
has been in the virgin’s chamber too ; he laid his icy hand upon 
the tender strings of her young heart, and instantly they ceased 
to vibrate. I knew an ambitious statesman, whose mind was 
often agitated with tempestuous political storms; he was all 
the time pining after fame, and thirsted like Dives in torment, 
for a release from domestic duties; he longed to mount the 
lofty minarets on the temple of honor, and to inhale the atmo- 
sphere that blows over the cupola of wealth and distinction ; but 
where is he now? I saw his corpse carried away, and hidden 
in the ground. I read the other day of a sweet babe who was 
torn from its mother’s arms, like the white rose-bud that 
begins to unfold in the morning’s twilight; it swings to and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 201 

fro, in the gentle gale; the mother stem seems proud of the 
delicate hud that decks its pliant branch ; hut what is that 
coiled up underneath the leaves? ’Tis a viper, it thrusts out its 
venomous tongue, it blights the beautiful bud, and the next 
thing you observe, it is lying low on the cold ground. I have 
seen this unbidden guest come into the bridal halls, and with 
his dark wings, fan away from the cheeks of the young bride, 
the freshest roses there blooming. I have seen the flowers 
of hope, that were growing so sweetly in love’s urn, shrink 
and wither, in the hour that the Jbride forgot that her adored 
one could die ! I have seen her dash those flowers to 
the earth, disgusted with the sickly odor which arose from 
their faded petals !” These were the remarks of my brother, 
which he closed as the wheels of our vehicle ceased to rattle 
over the stones, and a white ’kerchief was seen to wave from 
my mother’s window, held by her venerable hand, bidding her 
long absent children to be once more comfortably seated at her 
happy fireside. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

The cold and uninviting blasts of January are anything but 
desirable to one who wishes to go abroad in quest of adventure. 
The season was so inclement that I began to fear that I could 
not go to Manville Hall at the time I had promised to be 
there. Nature had now locked her icy doors over the crystal 
fountains. All its once lovely charms were covered with thick 
sheets of snow. The dark arms of the rugged trees seemed to 
reach forth their rude branches, as if they were begging a 
shield from the tyrannical wintry winds, which had chilled 
their sappy veins. Two ancient cedars arose above the garden 
gate, and on their evergreen adnate leaves waved great white 
caps of snow. The old rocks, that flagged the walk from the 
house door to the front gate, were smoothly iced over, and 


202 


LOUISE ELTON; 


looked as if some magician, during one night, had metamor- 
phosed them into great lumps of crystallized quartz. The 
oblique rays of the sun were too feeble to melt the long, 
dagger-like icicles from the eaves of the houses. The cattle 
and sheep stood like drilled sentries all day under the sheds; 
and the solitary warblers were too melancholy at the sad 
change to sing a song from the low bushes of flowering almond, 
and the thick hedges of gooseberry in which they had taken 
refuge. Nothing was green on the flower-beds but the low 
box-tree, the ivy, and myrtle. I was waiting patiently, how- 
ever, for the weather to moderate a little, in order that I might 
start to Manville Hall. During the long nights, we were often 
interested in hearing our mother relate the events that had 
happened during our absence. I had told her my story, and 
Alva had related his success in pecuniary matters, and his 
prospect of a happy alliance with Floretta Woodman. Our 
mother’s story of home was sweeter than all. During my 
absence, she had made a visit to the scenes of her nativity. 
Is there a person upon this earth, as the pious Cowper said, 
“ having human feeling,” who delights not in listening to the 
relations of a mother’s youthful days ? There is something in 
those reminiscences that seems to inspire one with a pure 
sentiment. They make an impression, too, which goes with 
one through life. Those simple, old-time stories that we have 
listened to, as we sit beside her, and twirl her apron-string 
between our thumb and finger, are always listened to in trans- 
port, and remembered at all times with pleasure; and as 
memory reprints them upon the pages of the imagination, we 
love to linger over the sweet lesson, and always peruse it with 
pleasure. Although the pleasures are dead and gone, they 
are of a delicate odor. Like the petioles of the chrysanthe- 
mum, even after the frosts of autumn have nipped their beau- 
tiful flowers, and the outer cuticle is withered, the inside stalk 
still emits a sweet odor. Thus, the hours were gliding away, 
as I prepared to leave this hallowed home for the halls of 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


203 


strangers. As I have candidly informed the reader, we were 
poor, and all that our father was able to give a his children was an 
education, I determined to apply mine ; and as I had had a 
predilection for a great while for the life of a governess, the 
fulfilment of the engagement I had made with Mr. Manville 
seemed to me the easiest mode by which I could make my living. 
I kept thinking over the unlooked-for changes one makes in life 
sometimes, and the many curious scenes I had passed through, 
for I had many day-dreams of the mansion and inmates at 
Green Haven, and it really seemed that I had been dreaming 
for a long time, and that the things I had related were like 
visions treasured up and told after many nights of mysterious 
perambulations amongst curious and foreign people. I often 
thought of the brotherly politeness of Dr. Finlay, the haughty 
stepmother, Mrs. Manville, the Colonel, and his magnani- 
mous old brother Charles. I thought there must be great 
pleasure in store for me, with Lizette and Ada, as I knew how 
delighted I would be to guide them along the paths which 
wind around the mountain, on whose summit sits the citadel of 
knowledge. I often fancied myself leading them through the 
bowers of Arcadia, and pointing them to the fragrant blossoms 
which always grow upon Mounts Helicon and Parnassus. I 
could see myself patiently teaching them to extricate the net- 
tles and prickles from the finer flowers and buds, which they 
were culling, and the interest I was going to take in disarming 
the stronger shrubs of those ferocious thorns, which grew on 
the branches of the trees of information. After many a toil- 
some search amongst these wild and unfrequented tracks, I 
have seen all three, weary with mental labor, reach the 
consecrated tower that is erected on the “ Hill of Science 
there we were welcomed by Genius, feasted on many rare intel- 
lectual dainties, and our parching thirst regaled at the saluti- 
ferous fountains of Pieria. 

I said, however, to my mother, one day, that if any one were 
to blindfold me, and carry me to a place on earth of the same 


204 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


temperature as my native place, and lead me into a garden, 
then unbind me, and show me the yellow crocus in blossom, I 
would say directly, “ This is the last of February !” Ever since 
I was a little girl, I have noticed that the crocus-blossoms ap- 
pear about the latter days of February ; no matter how cold, 
nor how damp, nor how much snow and ice during the winter, 
I have never seen it vary. I have often seen it sprout through 
the cold ground, which was covered with snow or frost, and its 
bright, golden petals look as soft and beautiful as if its bulbs 
were warmed in some subterranean green-house. It is a kind 
of floral calendar with me, and admonished me that it was high 
time that I had left home and gone to Manville Hall. After 
I meditated awhile upon the punctuality of the flower, I said, 
u Yes, ’tis as true to warn me of the departure of winter, as the 
Pleiades are to be with the sun on the eighteenth of May, 
assuring us that the season of blossoms has begun. I must 
be true too, for I have been kept from performing my journey 
to Manville Hall by the cold weather ; now I must take a les- 
son from my lowly flower, and brave the dangers of the bleak 
storms of ice and snow.” I left a parting tear on the garden 
parterres, hastened to our antique cottage, repacked my trunk 
and carpet-bag, and at eleven o’clock at night was wide awake, 
thinking of the long, rocky, muddy road I had agreed to travel, 
and of my mother’s prayers, the admonition of kind friends, 
and their many wishes for my happiness and earthly pros- 
perity. Late in the night I fell asleep, lulled by the sad mur- 
mur of the wind, which seemed to breathe away the pains and 
melancholy of the then gray-haired old winter. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

We commenced our journey to Manville Hall on the second 
day of March. The same good brother Alva was with mej 
and on the afternoon of the eighth day of the month we were 
far amongst the mountains. They rose away above us, and not 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 205 

only seemed fit “ barriers for the separation of nations,” but 
to me the deep dark vales that ran between them seemed to be 
winding-ways to the abodes of eternal silence and seclusion, so 
many short curves around headlands ; so many rugged cliffs, 
deformed with dark rough stones ; so many impenetrable glades, 
and so many steep, rocky hills. Still we journeyed on, and 
late on the evening of the tenth day we met a man in the road 
with a rifle on one shoulder, and over the other hung a variety 
of game, bleeding upon his woollen shirt. We halted, and I 
called to him. Said I, “ Good sir, do you know how far it is 
to the residence of Mr. Charles Manville ?” “Oh dearthfu 
lassie, ye’re very near him now; he’s at hame again. God bless 
him, and with him came his dear auld sisters.” I was a little 
startled when the old Scotchman only mentioned the return of 
Mr. Manville with his two sisters. So, said I, “Did Mr. 
Manville not bring Colonel Manville’s two little daughters 
home with him also ?” “ Oh ! yes, lady, there’s Lizette, a 

dear, sweet, laughing, gleeful child, and little Ada is as sweet 
and gentle as the jasmine flowers that used to cluster over my 
thatched cottage in Caledonia. And have ye ever seen Scot- 
land, lady ? if you hae nae, ye’ve not seen the finest part of 
the yird. Ye’ve not seen the Trosachs, and Loch Katrine, 
Loch Awe, and Loch Tyne, nor Edinborough, nor Glasgow, 
nor Dundee, nor Gretna Green, where the fugitive lovers all 
go ? I was telling little Ada last night about Arthur’s Seat, 
and the birth-place of Jennie Deans, the fair heroine in the 
‘ Heart of Mid-Lothian,’ by Walter Scott. A dearthfu bairn, 
Ada is ; she’s just like the Lady Lavinia, and I fear the germs 
of consumption are growing now in her gentle little breast. I 
guess ye’re the lady governante, are ye ? I heard Sir Charles 
say ye’d come; and a merry household there’ll be of ye. 
There’s - so many maids too. The auld widow Newland is 
hame again at the Hall. Ye’ll have plenty of company, lady. 
Lizette and Ada are too childlike for your companions ; but 
next spring Sir Charles fetches hame Miss Carrie — his dead 

18 


206 


LOUISE ELTON; 


sister’s daughter. She’s gay enough for you. She comes 
dashing along like the storms of the mountains. She makes 
the auld Hall ring with her noise and music. Poor Emily and 
Lavinia, they used to make Manville Hall a merry place. Ye’ve 
ne.ver seen them, lady ? I loved the dear creatures so much, 
that I would be like the auld sexton, who crept into the vault 
to see Shakspeare’s ashes ; for where is there on this yird I 
would not gae to see their sacred ashes ?” I had listened in 
silence to the old Scotchman, and so soon as I found he was 
coming to a period, said I, “ Has not Mr. Manville a grand- 
daughter who resides at the Hall at this time ?” I was eager 
to hear again of Ivanora, of whom I had heard so much. The 
old hunter looked at me as if he was surprised, and it was evi- 
dent that he evaded a direct reply to my question. “ For,” 
said he, “ oh ! ye’ll find one of the best of households, at the 
Hall. They are dear, kind people, who visit you when you are 
sick ; who see that the impoverished mountaineer never suffers ; 
they come and administer to you when the snow and sleet cover 
the ground, as willingly as when the green spring invites every 
body to roam, or when the warm days of summer have dried 
the paths of the mountains; and as the gloamin is coming on, 
ye’d better drive along, young man. Just follow the road, 
and directly ye’ll see the auld Hall to the right, on the hill. 
Drive to the front gate, and send your names to Sir Charles, 
and I’ll warrant you’ll be attended to. My name is Peebles, 
lady. My auld mither is the howff at the hall ; my daddie 
was a Welchman, but my mither was a gusty gipsy frae auld 
Clackmannan’s gowany glens.” The old-looking peasant then 
walked off across the valley singing — 

“ Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
The castle o’ Montgomery, 

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie!” &c., &c. 

“ This is a genuine old Scotch peasant,” said Alva, as we 
drove off, “and he cannot forget the titles of the nobility, but 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


207 


still addresses the proprietor of Manville Hall as Sir Charles. 
I very much, however, admire his native simplicity.” After 
conversing a little longer, and turning abruptly around a pro- 
jecting part of the mountain we came directly in front of an 
old-fashioned stone mansion. “ This,” said I, “ is the first 
specimen of antiquity I have ever seen.” The house was a 
huge pile, built of great square blocks, hewn from the quar- 
ries in the tall mountains that surrounded the antique domain, 
and these dark gray-looking stones had something dismal in 
their appearance. Then there were the old lofty chimneys, 
the long, narrow windows, the huge steps in front of the por- 
tico, the leaning balustrade on the summit of the moss-covered 
roof, the deep, dark hedges of shrubbery at maturity, and the 
trees ! oh, such lofty, grand old trees ! They were of sufficient 
size and age, thought I, to be registered with all of the most 
antiquated specimens of vegetable longevity, ever known in the 
world. There, near the rock-welted brook, stood the syca- 
more, lifting itself as proudly as if it could declare its descent 
from the old sycamores of Palestine, which lived ten hundred 
years. The pine trees that waved over the sod in the wide 
courtyard, seemed to say, ‘We trace our lineage to the aged 
trees of Asia Minor, and our ancestors lived eighteen hundred 
years — there was the chestnut, its rough bark clothing the 
huge trunks and limbs of those kingly trees, and looking 
as ancient as if they could declare their descent from the old 
tree that shaded Mount Etna, and heard its groaning volcano, 
and felt the heat of its lava for two thousand years ; then, 
there was a wilderness of vines, and dark shaded bowers, and 
millions of brown withered leaves blowing along the deep, 
narrow gravel walks. Everything was ancient; and here, 
amongst the stupendous antiquities of nature, found we Man- 
ville Hall. There was an old rack by the front gate, where we 
left our horse ; and then we walked to the door of the stone 
mansion. Going along, Alva said, “Louise, did you ever see 
such a dismal, gloomy-looking pile ? Iam afraid, dear sis, that 


208 


LOUISE ELTON: 


you will not be satisfied ; I feel as if I was approaching some 
old Gothic vault.” Then he repeated, 

“Oh, solitude! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 

Than reign in this horrible place.” 

We at length struck the door-nail loudly, with an old rusty 
iron sounder, and in a few seconds Dorcas, the servant of Col. 
Manville, and the nurse of Lizette and Ada, made her appear- 
ance. She knew me instantly, caught my hand and said, 
“ Dear Miss, old master will he so glad that you are here. I 
hear him every day wishing for you. Miss Lizette is mighty 
noisy, and it worries old master to think she is so wild ; he is 
mighty nervous at times; and since Miss Lizette has come up 
here, she looks like a bird just out of its cage, and says she 
never can play and run enough. Old master tried to keep her 
at her books, — but oh, no ; Miss Lizette says she is going to 
play till Miss Louise comes.” We had followed the old ser- 
vant into what I supposed was a drawing-room, one of the old- 
fashioned kind, too ; but everything, though plain, was neat, 
and in perfect order. In a short time I heard the creak of Mr. 
Manville’ s shoes. He came to receive us ; to welcome me to 
his house, and express his delight at seeing me again. “ As 
there is no fire in the chamber I design lodging you in, Miss 
Elton, you must walk with me to Sister Matilda’s apartment 
and take off your bonnet and cloak ?” I followed him through 
old halls, long passages, and down steps, till we came to Miss 
Matilda’s chamber. Mr. Manville was so ceremonious that he 
stopped and knocked at the door, and waited with as much 
formality for Miss Matilda to say “come in,” as if he had never 
been at Manville Hall before. He soon, however, ushered me 
into the room, where I found Mrs. Newland and Miss Matilda. 
They were very kind and polite, and after I had inquired about 
the inmates of Green Haven, Lizette and Ada, and rested per- 
haps an hour, we were called to supper. At the table Mr. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


209 


Manville said to me, u Miss Elton, take that chair to the left 
of my sister ; you may hold it as your own as long as you are 
a resident of Manville Hall.” Mrs. Newland, Miss Matilda 
Manville, the old gentleman, Alva, old Parson Macdonald, and 
myself, composed the company at tea. I was of course intro- 
duced to Parson Macdonald, at whose reverend physiognomy 
I cast many glances. I had heard of him at Green Haven, 
and had heard also, that he was Dr. Finlay’s uncle. His fea- 
tures indexed a good heart, and I registered his name imme- 
diately on my list of pure characters. He was exceedingly 
dignified, but kind and polite, and everything I saw confirmed 
the account I had heard of the goodness of the inmates of Manville 
Hall. I looked, but looked in vain for Ivanora ; she did not 
make her appearance at the table, nor did any one speak of her. 
As I had not seen Lizette and Ada, I ventured to ask Miss Ma- 
tilda where they were ? She replied, “ They are visiting, a short 
distance from the Hall, but they will be here to-morrow, per- 
haps, or maybe not until Monday morning, when they are to 
begin their school.” 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

After tea Miss Matilda directed a servant to carry my 
baggage to my room, and then she invited me to go above 
stairs and learn the way to the apartment assigned me as my 
chamber. I went along with her, up great old-fashioned steps 
and to the lower end of a wide, gloomy-looking hall, into a 
large and beautiful room. A fire had just been kindled, and 
there were two tremendous beds in the room, with white cam- 
bric curtains hanging around them, a wash-stand, one old 
bureau, several chairs, a carpet on the floor, one long, narrow 
looking-glass, a table, and in the walls were two high, wide 
presses. “ This is your room, Miss Elton,” said Miss Matilda; 
“ here is a bell, and you must ring for a servant, whenever 

18 * 


210 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


you wish anything; you must occupy that bed next to the 
back gallery, and this one, between the windows, is for Lizette 
and Ada; there is a small dressing-room,” said she, pointing 
to a door, that I had not observed, “ where Dorcas is to sleep; 
if any of you get sick in the night, she has candles, tapers, and 
many little things you may need, provided you do not require 
the aid of a physician. If so, you must send her to Brother 
Charles’s room, which is at the upper part of the gallery. The 
room adjoining yours is to be your school-room, next to the 
school-room, is one that we have set apart for my niece, Miss 
Ashmore, who is to come home next year some time, and the 
next room to hers is the apartment my brother occupies. I 
sleep below stairs; Sister Newland and I occupy a lower room. 
We keep house, and it is more convenient for us to be near 
the pantry and kitchen. Mrs. Peebles, our seamstress, has 
the old nursery adjoining us, and Parson Macdonald sleeps in 
the office, a little room in the corner of the yard. After Miss 
Matilda had told me how everything was arranged, we sat 
down at the fire-side, conversing about my journey homeward 
from G-reen Haven, and my late trip to Manville Hall. Miss 
Matilda was a maiden lady of about forty-seven years of age, 
and remarkably neat in her appearance. She always wore 
black dresses, with small white collars around her neck. She 
was a thin, tall woman, had eyes of the deepest black, and 
a head of heavy, glossy black hair; but time had left some 
footprints on her physiognomy in the wrinkles about her 
eyes. She appeared not at all disposed to be over commu- 
nicative; she was polite, but somewhat dignified; and there 
was so much reserve in her manners, that she even appeared 
stiff and severe. Still, there was nothing like haughtiness 
about her. She seemed to be formed for contemplation ; was 
strictly religious, and looked as if she had studied all her life 
to keep within the sphere of a woman of business. She spoke 
of their poultry, the amount of sewing and cutting they found 
on hand when they arrived here ; and she seemed interested 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD.* 


211 


about the vegetables, and the smoke-house, and carried a tre- 
mendous cluster of keys, in 'a willow basket. She had now 
told me how they all slept, but as she said not a word about 
Ivanora, I concluded there was no such person about the 
establishment, but said to myself, she is perhaps in some 
convent, or with some relative of whom I have not heard. At 
nine o’clock, Miss Matilda asked me if I would walk down to 
prayers. I went along with her, and was conducted into a 
small back room, which was lighted by one old-fashioned lamp. 
All the members of the family were seated on one side of the 
room, and on the other side there were about ten old servants. 
The Rev. Mr. Macdonald sat by the table, and before him lay 
a tremendous, old-fashioned Bible, and hymnbook. He 
opened the Bible, and in the most solemn and earnest tone, 
read the 38th chapter of the Book of Job; then all of us kneel- 
ing down, he addressed an eloquent and impressive prayer to 
the Supreme Being. After his conclusion all arose, and the 
servants quietly left the room. The three females, Mrs. New- 
land, Mrs. Peebles, and Miss Matilda, also arose, and left to go to 
bed. Aunt Dorcas took a lamp and conducted me again to my 
lonely chamber, and very soon I told her that she might retire 
into the little apartment adjoining mine. The old negress 
courtesied, and begged of me to aliow her to undress me, before 
she left. I told her that I could do that, myself. 

“But, surely,” said she, “young mistress, you are going to 
allow me to pull off your shoes and stockings ?” — “ 0 no,” 
said I, “ Aunt Dorcas, I never have any one to undress me.” 
— “Well, well,” rejoined she, “I take so much pleasure in 
waiting on young ladies. I always loved my young mis- 
tresses so much, it seemed I never could do enough for them ; 
but, dear Miss, you are strong and healthy ; the most of mas- 
ter’s children have been so delicate, I had a habit of dressing 
and undressing them. Then they were so good, and always 
treated us colored people with so much kindness, I shall always 
feel grateful to them. Dear souls ! I know they are in Heaven 


212 


LOUISE ELTON j 


• 

every one of them.” — “ Well, now, go into your room, Aunt 
Dorcas, and I will retire also,” said I. I got into bed, and the 
old woman extinguished my lamp and left me. Reader, do 
you think Louise Elton fell asleep directly ? If you do, you 
are mistaken. I was restless, and rolled from one side of the 
bed to the other. I never had felt the horrors of loneliness 
before, in all my travels. I kept thinking about the son of old 
Mr. Manville who I heard had been murdered, and I won- 
dered if the room I was occupying was not his room, and where 
they laid him out in the old Hall ; then I kept thinking of the 
death of Miss Emily Manville, and that “ mysterious Ivanora.” 
I got to thinking that, perhaps, she was deranged, and maybe 
she might come into my room in the night, and although it 
would seem foolish in one woman to be afraid of another, still, 
I thought if one should walk into my room at Manville Hall, 
I should be nervous enough to be frightened, and, perhaps, 
scream. I recollected that the door, which led into the great, 
wide, old passage, had not been locked ; so I sprung up to lock 
it, and I heard such strange, awful sounds, that seemed to 
come from without, that my reason almost forsook me. I 
never feared a ghost in my life, and had always declared that 
if people who were alive, would not disturb me, I had no 
fear of the dead. I listened again for the frightful sound, and 
heard it ; but fastened as I was in the house, I could not tell 
what on earth it was. I would have given the State, had I pos- 
sessed it, to have been near my brother ; but I knew not in 
which apartment he was lodging. I commenced arguing and 
charging myself with acting the child ; but that awful, melan- 
choly sound kept ringing in my ears ; and, dear reader, now I 
will tell you what it was. It was the mournful wail of the 
wind through those magnificent old pine trees, near the back 
gallery, to which my bed was so near. There was a back yard 
filled with them, and amongst them was many a magnificent 
balm of Gilead, clusters of pine, yew, and black larch ; and if 
the reader has never heard the night-breezes grieving, as it 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


213 


were, through large trees of this nature, the first time they are 
heard, at such a dismal old place as Manville Hall, they will 
make an impression that will not be soon forgotten. I went 
creeping back to my bed, and, simpleton -like, jumped under 
the covers, frightened and agitated ; for it seemed as if some- 
thing under the bed was going to catch me by my feet as I 
lifted them from the floor. I fell asleep, however, after 
awhile, and was awakened in the morning by the dutiful old 
servant, who was taking the ashes out of my fireplace, and pre- 
paring to make me a fire to dress by. I laughed, then, at my 
foolishness during the night, and determined to be more of a 
woman before I came to bed again. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

After I was dressed, I walked out on the back gallery to 
survey my new home. It was quite early, but I had a fair 
view of the prospect before me. The ploughmen were begin- 
ning to turn up the earth, with the view of producing an 
abundant crop. The long line of blue-capped mountains in 
perspective was beautifully illumined by the bright rays of the 
morning’s sun, and multitudes of birds were chanting their 
matins in the thick pines, the matted cedars, and the low 
brushwood that clothed the rough sides of the lofty range. I 
could see the gossamer vapor rising from the valley to an 
atmosphere of its own specific gravity. I looked over the 
ancient garden, with its low, fertile beds, which were cut in 
the most tasteful and beautiful shapes. The hawthorn and 
quince trees, that thickly hedged the rear of the garden, looked 
ancient in the extreme. I remembered that Robert Burns and 
Highland Mary loved the hawthorn, and that they often had 
sat embowered beneath its u fragrant shades.” “ Who knows,” 
said I, “ but that these old hedges were once scions on the banks 
of the Ayr, or 1 bonnie Doon/ or perhaps were dug from the 


214 


LOUISE elton; 


glades of the 1 clear-winding Devon V The inmates of Man- 
ville Hall, I learn, most of them, are natives of Scotland : they 
have come from that romantic land, which is hallowed by so 
many thrilling and stirring scenes.” The narrow walks about 
the yard were all gravelled, and all the vines, trees, and bushes 
were ancient and luxuriant. How beautiful and interesting, 
thought I, will all these decorations look during the “ season 
of blossoms !” How happy shall I be to roam among yonder 
green dells, and listen to the sweet song of the mountain bird ! 
I noticed, also, away in one corner of the garden, that the 
emblems of death were growing in that sequestered niche. I 
saw great mounds covered with myrtle and ivy, and that the 
yew, cypress, larch, and weeping willow, were growing in 
clumps about the sacred spot. I saw no haughty monument, 
— nothing but the low, bluish-looking stones hewn from the 
neighboring hill. These headstones were about two feet above 
the graves, and the ivy was clustering over and around them, 
and the body of the graves was covered with long spires of 
withered grass, which had fallen over them, and the delicate 
little flowers of the myrtle were just beginning to open their 
beautiful blue eyes in the morning’s sun. When we die, is it 
not more appropriate and interesting to be hidden under the 
green sod, and to have the flowers and the evergreen leaves ol 
the myrtle and ivy to creep over us, than to be obscured by 
the tall, arrogant, cold marble pillar ? There is something so 
stiff and lifeless in the appearance of monuments ; but, I am a 
tasteless creature, perhaps, and every one will say so when I 
declare I despise sculpture. I was repeating the sweet lines of 
Gray, 

“ Can storied urn or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ; 

Can honor’s voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?” 

when Mr. Manville unexpectedly came out of a narrow, old- 
fashioned door, near to where I was standing, which had till 
that moment been unobserved by me. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


215 


u Are you contemplating the glories of the morning, Miss 
Elton ?” said the venerable father, as he advanced nearer to 
me. u Yes, sir,” I replied, u as well as the beauty and romance 
of the environs of Manville Hall. There is a charm about the 
ancient hall and the old trees, that I have nowhere else seen ; 
there is something here like antiquity, which I so greatly 
admire.” — “ I am gratified,” said he, “ to hear you talk so, for 
I was fearful that you would not like the appearance of things, 
perhaps. I have great confidence in impressions at first sight. 
I am not often deceived, either, if I like a person at first sight; 
I am apt to be pleased with them if I afterwards live with 
them, or have them near me as my neighbors. I thought 
when I first saw you, Miss Elton, that if I ever had seen a 
young lady who would not grow tired of being embosomed 
amongst the mountains, that it was yourself.” Said I, “ Mr. 
Manville, I believe if I had searched the State through, I 
could not have found a place so well suited to my taste as 
Manville Hall.” — “ Well, my daughter, do just as you would 
if you were at your mother’s, and as to-day is Friday, it is not 
worth while to go into the school-room with Lizette and Ada. 
Amuse yourself with taking a view of the apartments of the 
Hall. My library is below stairs ; I have about five hundred 
volumes stored away in that room, and a great variety of 
shells, and specimens of stones and crystals, — many plants 
pressed, and some paintings executed by my deceased daugh- 
ter. My son Arthur’s library is in cases standing in your 
school-room, the astronomical, chemical, and philosophical 
apparatus are also there, — you can have access to all of 
them at any time ; besides, there is an elegant piano and a 
new guitar in the front parlor, and a large case of music books. 
To-morrow, you can arrange your matters in your own 
chamber, and prepare for the Sabbath. Rocky Chapel, at the 
foot of the mountain, is about one mile from here; if you 
choose, you can attend worship there. The Rev. Mr. Mac- 
donald is the minister.” 


216 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Then said I, “ I have not seen Lizette and Ada, Mr. Man- 
ville ; where are they ?” — “ They have some relations,” re- 
plied he, “not far from the Hall. They are with them on a 
short visit. I shall bring them home, on Monday morning, 
in due time to begin their lessons. Now, Miss Elton, go down 
to the back-parlor, my dear; Mr. Macdonald assembles us 
there, morning and night, at prayer.” — As I was tripping down 
the steps, I met a servant, who said she was just coming to in- 
vite me to hear “Master Macdonald pray.” I entered the 
room, where I found Alva, and we joined in prayer with the 
family, who seemed as devoted and fervent in their thank- 
offerings as the pious clergyman himself. After breakfast, the 
trying time came with me. My brother was going to start for 
home. I never had thought of my long distance from my na- 
tive State till that moment, and until then I had not thought 
once of being amongst strangers. Everything to make me 
sad seemed to rise suddenly before me. The hour for his 
departure at length arrived. I parted with him, kissing him, 
while a flood of tears streamed from our eyes. Alva wept at 
leaving me so far from my family, and even whispered to me, 
as we stood together at the ancient stile, “ Sister Louise, if you 
are not satisfied, for God’s sake tell me so, and I will carry you 
home.” — I told him, “I thought I would try it one session 
at least ; and if I was not pleased at the close of five months, 
I would write for him to come for me, and I would leave the 
Hall.” — “Well, well, sister, you always were a soldier-like, 
decisive woman,” and then he kissed me, mounted the buggy, 
and I stood on the stile gazing at the vehicle, as long as it was 
in sight, for it was conveying away from me one whom I so 
fondly loved. As I was returning to the Hall, I met Mr. 
Manville, who had noticed my movements, and as he saw 
that I was weeping because Alva had gone, he said, “ Be com- 
forted, my daughter, your tears are natural ; but I hope you 
will be happy ; walk into Sister Matilda’s room.” I approached 
this dignified lady’s room, tapped at the door, and was invited 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


217 


to walk in. I told Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland that I had 
been weeping because my brother had gone home. “ Sit down, 
my dear,” said Mrs. Newland, “you must not be lonesome.” 
I took a seat by the old matron, and told her that I would en- 
deavor to compose myself ; that I was, of course, distressed at 
parting with my brother. “ That is natural, Miss Elton,” said 
she ; “ but have you ever seen a copy of Tyndall's version of 
the English Bible ? I have a copy of it that was printed in 
the year fifteen hundred and something. You see it has been 
so long ago that the figures are almost entirely obliterated.” 
I took hold of the old sacred work, and turned over its coarse, 
narrow leaves. To me it was a great curiosity, particularly 
the pictures in it. I shall never forget the cut representing 
John the Baptist, standing in the river Jordan, pouring the 
water of baptism on the head of the Saviour. I knew that 
Mrs. Newland was endeavoring to divert my attention from my 
brother, for which I was obliged to her; so said I, “Mrs. New- 
land, do you not believe that Christ was put under the waters 
of the Jordan ? but, to judge from the picture, I would suppose 
that the water was dipped, and then poured upon his head.” — 
“ Just so, my dear girl ; in earlier times, people had fewer books 
than we have, and pictures were their books ; and all the pic- 
tures you see there, my dear, were copied from the most 
ancient plates of Jerusalem, Antioch, and Borne, and, of course, 
the old fathers of the Church knew all the forms and practices 
of the earlier Christians.” Then she opened a small case she 
kept in her room, and took from it a book, which she handed 
to me, and said, “ I wish you would read the twenty-first article 
in the Boman Catholic Creed. It may be the means, perhaps, 
of instructing you upon the great use of pictures.” 

“ Article XXI. — I do believe that the images of Christ, 
of the blessed Virgin, the mother of God, and of other saints, 
ought to be had and retained, and that due honor and venera- 
tion ought to be paid unto them.” 

“ Exposition. — 1 Pictures are the books of the learned.' 

19 


218 


LOUISE ELTON; 


But it is not this idea alone that suggests to the pious Catholic 
the propriety of paying veneration to the images of the saints. 
The catechism says that the minister shall teach the people ; 
that images of saints are to he placed in churches that they 
may be likewise worshipped. If any doubt arise about the 
meaning of the word worship, when applied to images, the 
minister shall teach them that images were made to instruct 
them in the history of both testaments, and to refresh their 
memories ; for, being excited by the remembrance of divine 
things, they excite more strongly to worship God himself. It 
is a stupid and illiberal error to charge the Homan Catholics 
with the proper worship of saints and of images, and to call 
them idolaters, as many have done, and some ill-informed 
Protestants still do; the charge is both untrue and unjust. 
Who has not often involuntarily ejaculated a prayer to the One 
God, when looking upon some well-executed piece of sculpture 
or painting, representing some person or scene of sacred 
history ? The scriptural paintings of the late Mr. West, some 
of which ornament the altar-pieces of our own churches, 
have a powerful tendency to call forth this feeling ; and he 
has but a cold heart, if not even a sceptical one, who can look 
upon that artist’s ‘ Christ Healing the Sick/ or his 1 Christ 
Rejected/ and be totally unmoved by something of a devotional 
spirit. It is certain, that nothing more than the excitation of 
this feeling is intended by the use of images and pictures 
amongst the Roman Catholics. If ignorant persons in ignorant 
times have made any other use of these visible remembrances 
of departed worth, it has beem an abuse of a harmless, if not 
a profitable practice. The Catholic Church forbids idolatry, 
ranking it as one of the deadly sins. Let them be rightly 
understood on this as on other points. Let us not charge 
them with being of a religion which they deny, nor judge 
them lest we also be judged. I neither justify nor condemn, 
but state facts.” — I laid the book upon my lap, and said, 
“Mrs. Newland, do you belong to the Roman Catholic 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


219 


Church ?” — u N©, my dear, hut I have a high opinion of their 
piety and moral worth. My father was a Catholic, and my 
brother, Colonel Manville, is favorable to them, but never has 
united with them. His eldest daughters belonged to the 
Roman Church. They were educated at a convent, and chose 
i that form of religion. I believe they were pious ) that they 
were Christians when they died ; and that they are in heaven ; 
but, I believe, dear Miss, in doing justice to the Catholics, we 
are under obligations to them for a diffusion of some of the 
most valuable knowledge the world now is in possession of. I 
only showed you that Article to make you inform yourself upon 
the subject of pictures, and to prove to you their great anti- 
quity.” I found that Mrs. Newland was not only pious in 
theory, but also in practice. She daily read her Bible, and 
was one of the few who seem hourly impressed with the belief 
that we are placed in this world only to prepare for one that 
is better. Every day was now fast leaving the frosts over the 
other side of the mountains. The spring-time was gradually 
coming on. The spring-breezes blew their bracing breath into 
the windows of the old Hall ; and from the appearance of the 
vines and the lofty trees, one would have directly concluded 
with me, that the heat of summer had but little effect in this 
secluded abode, which was made cool by the deep dark leaves 
of the trees, and the many old vines that interlaced the bowers 
and groves. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

Rain during the day prevented our attending Rocky Chapel 
on Sunday. The sombrous shades of the twilight of Monday 
morning were illumined by a bright sun, and Lizette and Ada 
met me with joyful faces at the breakfast table, and in a short 
time we repaired to the school-room. We had a fine flowered 
carpet on the floor, two neatly made writing desks, well stocked 
with stationary, two large book-cases full of books — “ Son Ar- 
thur’s library,” as Mr. Manville had said — there was a celes- 


222 


LOUISE ELTON; 


The clergyman preached from the 12th chapter of St. Luke, 
thirty-seventh verse. “ Blessed are those servants, whom the 
lord when he cometh shall find watching : verily I say unto 
you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to 
meat, and will come forth and serve them.” After the sermon 
they prayed, sung, shouted, shook hands, looked at the corpse, 
and then the lid was screwed down, and it was borne by six 
pall-bearers to the hearse. The procession was then formed 
double file, and they marched slowly, mournfully, and silently, 
along the deep winding road, to the walnut grove, and there 
deposited the remains of ancient Bachel in the earth. The 
negroes appeared to reverence Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland, 
and regarded “ old master,” as they termed Mr. Manville, as 
a kind of tutelary divinity. I soon grew attached to many of 
the servants, they were so humble and always wished to be 
serving you in some way. Every day was now unfolding new 
matters of interest to me, for during the months of summer, I 
used to roam along the narrow, winding paths about the 
mountains, the yard and garden. I gathered many a moun- 
tain herb and flower, which I pressed within the lids of my 
herbarium, and I loved to stay in the greenhouse amongst the 
gorgeous exotics, which grew luxuriantly in pots and tubs. 
I went as regularly as possible to Rocky Chapel. This was an 
old stone edifice, and like everything else belonging to Man- 
ville Hall, looked as if it had been “rocked by the storms of a 
thousand years.” The quarries in the mountains had furnished 
material for the stone-mason, and the wild cherry trees, the 
tall poplar, the pine and walnut, lent the carpenter what he 
required to wainscot it, and erect an altar, where the minister 
proclaimed the word of God to the good people, who came on 
horseback, in phaetons, dearborns, and old-fashioned carriages, 
to this secluded tabernacle to worship. Every day, Lizette 
and Ada improved ; and Lizette was now able to compose and 
write a letter to her pa, her Uncle Doctor, or Sister Kate. 
We had communications frequently from Colonel Manville and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


223 


Mrs. Percy, and I heard that there was a regular and frequent 
correspondence between Dr. Finlay and Parson Macdonald. 
Mr. Manville, for the first time, now came to the door of the 
school-room to express his surprise and delight at receiving a 
memorandum from me, just before he started to town, to pur- 
chase for Lizette, Tytler's School History, with an Arithmetic, 
and a Geography and Atlas for Ada. Lizette and Ada were 
in the best place to study in the world. I kept them as closely 
as I thought requisite at their lessons, and they saw but 
little company. Mr. Manville said, he had no idea of girls 
entertaining company during their pupilage; that he wished 
them to be as retired and studious as if they were in a convent. 
I had not then visited the little town whence I received and 
mailed my letters, and had become acquainted with no persons 
but the Cardigan family, who resided about six miles from the 
Hall, and who came there occasionally. Once in awhile, some 
acquaintances from town would come out and probably spend 
a day or night with Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland. I scarcely 
ever saw them but at the table, and upon making each day 1 a 
critic on the last day/ I discovered that I was becoming as 
formal and reserved as the inmates of the Hall, who were as 
aristocratic and fashionable in their ceremonies, as the most 
formal coteries of London or Edinburgh. The first spring and 
summer at Manville Hall had vanished now, and the autumn 
went gliding away ere we had tasted its sweets. I was rioting 
at the banquets of science and still unveiling bright pictures to 
my little charges. Ada was a delicate, narrow-chested child ; 
she had large, languishing black eyes, and bluish-looking fin- 
ger nails. Her face was pale, and her lips were of a livid hue, 
and as it fatigued her to spell long words, I mentioned to 
Mr. Manville that I thought she was too delicate to be con- 
fined to her book, and he immediately took her from school. 
Lizette and I stuck to the desk, and Lizette studied faithfully, 
not because she loved her book, but because she felt it her 
duty to obey her uncle and father. I was sitting one night 


224 


LOUISE ELTON; 


by our fire in my bed-chamber with Lizette and Ada beside 
me. Lizette, after putting aside her long, black curly hair, said, 
“ Miss Louise, am I a hateful girl ?” — “ Hateful !” said I, 
“ why, Lizette, what makes you ask me such a strange ques- 
tion ?” — “ Because,” replied she, “ I am trying to find out if 
everybody thinks I am hateful. My stepmother always told 
me that I was hateful, and that no one would ever love me ; 
then she used to pinch my ears, and pull my hair so hard I 
almost screamed; but when she abused me and Ada, if we 
made a noise, she used to whip us with that great cowhide you 
saw her have. She used to say that Ada was so tiresome that 
she could not bear her in her sight.” — Ada’s bright eyes 
sparkled as she looked up to me, and said, “ Miss Louise, do 
you get tired of me, and can you bear me in your sight ?” — 
“No, no, my darlings,” replied I; “you are not hateful 
Lizette; you are a dear, sweet, sprightly girl, and you are 
growing to be an elegant woman ; and little, pretty Ada is not 
tiresome at all. I love you both dearly ; you are two amiable, 
sweet children ; you must learn fast, and have a good educa- 
tion by the time your sister Kate sends for you.” — “ I am so 
glad,” said Lizette, “ that you think I am not hateful, and that 
everybody at Manville Hall loves Ada and me. I am going to 

tell Cousin Oh, I forgot,” continued Lizette, “ that Miss 

Elton loves us so dearly.” I supposed she was going to say 
she would tell Cousin Ivanora; but she checked herself, and 
concluded with saying, “ Come, Sister Ada, ’tis time for us to 
go to bed.” I had never seen Ivanora, and no one had ever 
spoke of her in my presence. Late one evening, however, 
after a shower of rain, during the month of August, as I was 
leaning over the balusters, I saw a lady go down the back stairs, 
with Mr. Charles Manville, and they walked off in the direc- 
tion I had frequently seen Miss Matilda, Mrs. Newland, Lizette, 
and Ada go. The figure was enveloped in a thin, large black 
shawl, and a black calico or gingham sun-bonnet covered 
her head. It was late in the afternoon, and I supposed it was 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


225 


Ivanora, as the height of the female was not great enough for 
Mrs. Newland or Miss Matilda. I had always felt a delicacy 
in asking questions about Ivanora, as I knew the family de- 
termined to conceal her history from every one, and I could 
not get my own consent to interrogate Lizette, Ada, or the 
servants. Oh, no ; that would have been a deviation from the 
code of ceremony so rigidly adhered to by all about the man- 
sion. I felt some curiosity, of course, to learn something of 
her, and to know why she lived in solitude and seclusion. 

It is useless to remind my kind reader that “time flies,” 
but at this period of my narrative, I had been living at Manville 
Hall one year and one month. Be not surprised when I inform 
you that, when I had been there one year and two months, to my 
great astonishment, I received letters from my mother and my 
brother, informing me that Mr. George Lampton was then my 
stepfather; that he had married my mother, and they were 
going, in a few days, to start for their elegant home in the 
South. “ My mother Mrs. Lampton !” cried I. “ Strange ! 
strange, indeed ! She always declared she would not marry a 
second time. Now, she is shortly to be mistress of Boscobello, 
the magnificent residence of Mr. George Lampton.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The glories of another spring were beginning to unfold 
themselves again at Manville Hall. Many a night have I sat 
at my window watching the mountain landscape, by the light of 
the moon. There were the tall rocky minarets, reaching far into 
the blue sky, looking as if Time had founded his watch-towers 
on their majestic heights, and sat there, with his hoary beard, 
and with a sceptre in his hand, ruling the destinies of mortal 
beings. Green leaves on the thick, heavy vines, embroidered 
their sides for miles and miles; and they were bastioned 
by huge heaps of blue stones, that clung to their bases. 


226 


LOUISE ELTON; 


The night air came fresh and moist from the beautiful 
hedges, and from the gum-trees that lavished their sweets in 
these romantic wilds. Here, the picturesque and sublime had 
married the enchanting and fascinating. In the valleys, at the 
base of the mountains, as well as on their steep sides, bloomed 
some of the most gorgeous of shrubs. Refreshing fountains 
gushed from the limestone rocks, and lowly sweet flowers of 
vivid beauty brocaded the margins of the rippling streams. 
The Sabbath mornings, especially, amongst these silent ram- 
parts of nature, always inspired me with a kind of religious 
awe. There was something of a holy influence that all the 
time subdued my feelings, as I trod the deep winding-ways 
to Rocky Chapel. We had to go, almost every step of the 
way, along the dark ravines. The huge arms of the valley 
trees waved their green leaves over us, and the moun- 
tains in majestic grandeur rose on either side. The deep-cut 
road wound through the shady labyrinth, bounded on one 
side by a dark blue stream. Now and then, a white-washed 
stone cottage was built on the grassy bottoms. Nature had 
levelled some places in front of the strong mountain fortifica- 
tions, where the mountaineers had made little gardens, filled 
with culinary plants. The rustic girls and boys wore linen or 
woollen clothes, which were washed in the water that the 
transpicuous brooklets afforded them. Often have I listened 
to their merry songs, as I stood under the hawthorn and crab- 
apple trees, as the morning’s breeze shook their fragrant blos- 
soms on my head. It was, indeed, an enchanting scene, my 
dear reader, for there was the dark green-leaved laurel on one 
side of me, with its soft milk-white flowers, and the boxwood, 
too, as white as snow, with its beautiful blossoms. The 
pale sassafras breathed a delicate fragrance, and the Judas tree 
shed near me many a shower of blood-red tears. All these 
beauties and glories every day more and more endeared me to 
Manville Hall and its environs. 1 had not yet visited the 
little town, which was within seven miles of us. Miss Matilda 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 227 

used to go there sometimes, and occasionally Mr. Manville of 
Mrs. Newland went. I had now been at Manville Hall nearly 
two years. Mr. Manville sent to the town, sometimes three 
days during the week, for merchandise, or anything we needed, 
and we received our letters, newspapers, and magazines, regu- 
larly. The first year that I resided there, the ladies and Mr. 
Manville had company oftener than they had during the second 
year. Manville Hall was such a dull, lonely place — as it was 
thought by almost every one — that people seemed to dislike to 
come there. All the household looked anxiously forward to 
the time when Carrie Ashmore was to come home. Mr. Man- 
ville had said he intended to bring her there during the second 
spring that I was at the Hall, but she wrote to her uncle and 
requested him to let her stay another year at the Academy of 

; that she could not leave there without graduating, 

which she could not creditably do before the next year. Mr. 
Manville consented. Still we all regretted it, because Miss 
Matilda and Mrs. Newland seemed desirous for the old Hall to 
be a place of merriment, as they said it once was ; and that 
Carrie Ashmore was the girl to revive their lost pleasures again, 
as she was so gay, fashionable, and sprightly; and we all supposed 
that of course she would come home highly educated and ac- 
complished. “ Uncle Charles,” too, was going to give her ten 
thousand dollars. “ I am sure,” said Miss Matilda to me, one 
day, “ that when our young niece comes home, she will attract 
a great deal of company to the Hall ; then I hope you will not 
be so lonely, Miss Elton, as you are here with us old folks. I 
know I am poor company for any one. I have all my life 
been a retired kind of woman. I so much dislike pomp and 
confusion, that I have loved retirement best. Sister Newland’ s 
health is generally so poor, she scarcely enjoys life at all, but 
in spite of our dulness and retirement, you all the time look 
happy and satisfied.” — “ I am,” replied I, “ as perfectly satisfied 
with my home here, as any mortal could be, Miss Matilda. I 
really love you all, and enjoy the solitary grandeur of the 


228 


LOUISE ELTON; 


scenes around the Hall so much, that I am never lonesome, or 
tired of gazing at the magnificence and beauty which is spread 
about this romantic abode. Besides, since the marriage of 
my mother, I feel more like continuing at Manville Hall than 
I ever have. Everything is so delightful here. You are 
all so pious, and we have all the comforts and many of the 
luxuries of life. Everything is so methodical and quiet, and 
all, except poor dear Mrs. Newland and Ada, enjoy such per- 
fect health, that I do not see how we could better our condi- 
tion. The great secret, after all, in rendering one’s situation 
pleasant, is contentment of mind. I often have said to myself, 
since I have lived here, that I surely have found the place the 
poet’s heart so earnestly yearned for, when he sung, — 

“ ‘ 0 for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war, 

Might never reach me more.’ ” 

“We have hut little company,” said Miss Matilda, “as our 
neighborhood is thinly populated, and we are dependent upon 

our friends in the town of for what little society we 

enjoy ; but ladies who reside in cities and towns are not very 
partial to visiting at such a secluded place as this. They are 
generally so much fascinated with gay, fashionable people, 
that when they start to drive out here, and get into the deep 
valleys, and are jolted over the rocky hills, and they see the 
tall mountains by which Manville Hall is surrounded, they 
think they are going into all the gloom and horror of solitude. 
Many a time sister and I have sent for you to come down and 
sit with us, but the servant always returned, saying that you 
were engaged with Lizette and Ada ; then I have wondered 
how you can confine yourself so closely, but believing that you 
loved the seclusion of your chamber or school-room better than 
company, I have left you to enjoy yourself as you pleased. I 
expect Manville Hall will be a gay place again as it once was. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


229 


My brother certainly intends to bring Carrie home about 
January. I heard him say a few days ago that he would not 
let her remain longer at the academy than J anuary. She will 
attract a great many persons here, I know .” — “ I am perfectly 
satisfied,” said I to Miss Matilda, u particularly since Ada has 
got well enough to be a classmate for Lizette.” — “ Well, well,” 
said Miss Matilda, “ Miss Elton, please accompany me to the 
parlor. I have listened to your playing on the piano several 
times. You play some Highland reels that I am very partial 
to ; where did you learn them ?” — “ I heard them played when 
I was at my brother George’s. My brother Alva is the most 
partial fellow to Scotland, and everything that pertains thereto, 
of any one I ever saw. He is a scientific musician, too, and 
plays most of the old Scotch reels and songs. To the science 
of music I have, however, devoted but little attention, for I 
play altogether by ear.” They had an elegant piano in the 
parlor, and it belonged to Carrie Ashmore. It was in splendid 
tune, and as I played for Miss Matilda, I saw a tear glide 
down her cheeks, for she listened very attentively to the reels 
and hornpipes that she said were so familiar, and which made 
her remember the days of her girlhood, when she used to 
dance in her own dear native Scotland. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

My dear little Ada had indeed got well enough to return to 
the school-room. Lizette had improved so finely, that she was 
pretty far advanced in chemistry. She was also remarkably 
fond of playing with the apparatus we had in the school-room, 
and I loved to perform experiments with her. One day, while 
we were using some oil of vitriol, I burnt my hand very se- 
verely with it. I had on my left hand a knit cotton glove, 
with the fingers cut off. I got it wet with the water in the 
bowl, into which I was occasionally dipping things. Every one 

20 


230 


LOUISE ELTON; 


who is acquainted with the nature of oil of vitriol, will recollect 
that its causticity depends on its avidity for water or moisture. 
My hand was severely blistered before I could draw the glove 
from it. I was suffering intensely, and Lizette stood fright- 
ened, not knowing what to do, and I lost sight of everything I 
knew about the oil. At length, regaining a little composure, 
I said, “ Lizette, run to your Aunt Matilda, tell her how badly 
I am burnt, and ask her to come up and bring me some linseed 
oil” Lizette accordingly ran off, but returned immediately, 
saying, “ Miss Louise, Aunt Matilda has gone to town with 
Uncle Charles. Aunt Emily — referring to Mrs. Newland — 
says she is so sick she cannot leave her bed, but cousin says 
you must pack your hand full of prepared chalk ; that there is 
a jar of it in Uncle Arthur’s drawer there, in the side of the 
walnut case.” — “ Your cousin !” said I to Lizette in astonish- 
ment, “ who is your cousin, and where is she ?” As I pro- 
ceeded to unbolt the drawer and put the chalk on my hand, I 
again said, “ Tell me, Lizette, who is your cousin ? I did not 
know that you had a cousin here !” — “ 0,” said Lizette, “ she’s 
our cousin; she’s in uncle’s room, at the upper part of the 
gallery.” — Said I, “ Does she occupy that room ?” — “ Only 
when she visits here,” said Lizette. — Said I, “Is her home 
here, and what is her name, Lizette ?” — “ Please don’t ask me 
anything about my cousin, Miss Louise,” said Lizette; “ for I 
dislike to run away from you, and make you no reply, and pa, 
uncle, and our aunts have made us promise that we will not 
speak of our poor good cousin ; and now, if I do talk about her, 
will I not be acting disobediently?” — “Yes,” said I, “you 
are correct, Lizette, and if I had known that you had pro- 
mised to keep any secret relative to your cousin, I should not 
have questioned you ; but do you go to her and thank her for 
prescribing for my hand ; it is a great deal easier than it was a 
moment ago.” — Said Lizette, “’Tis not worth while to go and 
thank her, as I expect she has gone. She said she would go 
home directly, and she had already put her bonnet on, and had 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 231 

the key of the hack stairs in her hand.” I was satisfied that 
it was Ivanora who had prescribed for me, and that she was 
often about the Hall, and many a time locked in Mr. Man- 
ville’s room, when I was promenading on the gallery; for 
sometimes I noticed that the curtains in that secluded apart- 
ment were more closely drawn than at others, and I had often 
heard Mr. Manville in conversation there with some one, 
whom I knew to be neither Miss Matilda, Mrs. Newland, nor 
Parson Macdonald ; I was also satisfied that she was the person 
who came down the back stairs, the year before, with Mr. Man- 
ville, enveloped in black, and went away with him. — When Miss 
Matilda and Mr. Manville returned, to our joy and surprise, 
Colonel Manville came with them. They received the intelli- 
gence on the morning of that day, that the Colonel had come 
to the little town, and immediately, without telling Lizette, 
Ada, or myself a word of the news, Mr. Manville and Miss 
Matilda went in the carriage to conduct him to Manville Hall. 
I was almost as happy to see the Colonel as Lizette and Ada 
were. He met them with the warmest affection, kissed them, 
and shed many tears as he caressed them. He was surprised 
to see how they had grown, and rejoiced to find Ada in such 
good health. Ada was a child of more gentleness than Lizette ; 
there was something angelic in her temperament. She learned 
her lessons because she loved her books. The Colonel had no 
fault to find whatever, and made every allowance for Ada's 
slow progress, on account of her delicate health. Lizette 
teased her pa to let her lay aside her English grammar, because 
she declared to him that she “ disliked it more than anything 
Miss Louise made her study.” She had a great natural talent 
for mathematics, and wished her pa to send her to the convent, 
where she could learn music. Colonel Manville was deter- 
mined to pursue his own course with Lisette, and plainly told 
her she could not leave the Hall till she was sixteen years of 
age, and that Miss Louise had agreed to stay there four years. 
I knew that it would be gratifying to Colonel Manville, so I 


232 


LOUISE ELTON; 


inquired about his wife. He remarked, “ She is in very fine 
health, and seems happy. She has brought her two youngest 
children to Green Haven, and the other two will come home next 
winter. Hr. Finlay is there also, Miss Elton,” continued he, 
smiling mischievously, “ and I suppose he thinks of you oftener 
than of any one else living. He sent his compliments to you, 
by me, Miss Louise, but I knew he meant love, and you must 
receive it as such.” — “ I thank you, Colonel,” replied I; “ when 
you return present me respectfully to Hr. Finlay.” — “ With 
pleasure,” said the Colonel; “and,” rejoined he, “I will be 
obliged to you to examine Lizette and Ada, in the branches in 
which you have instructed them, as I wish to report to their Uncle 
Hoctor what they have learned.” — I commenced in the spelling 
book, and made them spell; they also read for their pa ; then I ex- 
amined Ada in geography, arithmetic, and history, and carried 
Lizette on with chemistry, botany, mythology, rhetoric, logic, and 
astronomy, and lectured her thoroughly in Murray’s Grammar. 
She really answered astonishingly ; and I saw many a tear drop 
from the eyes of their kind parent, as they responded so 
promptly to the questions I put to them. I made Lizette 
parse in pros.e, then transpose and parse blank verse. I had 
taught her to transpose and parse with great accuracy, those 
beautiful lines from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” beginning — 

“ Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad,” &c. 

She could parse and transpose several other difficult pieces, 
and, amongst them, the “ Universal Prayer,” by Pope. The 
Colonel listened attentively, and when Lizette had transposed 
the last-mentioned piece, her pa said, “ Stop, my daughter, 
that is sufficient.” Then he came to me saying, “ Miss 
Elton, here is my hand, accept of my kindest thanks for what 
you have done for my daughters, and also accept of these as a 
present from me,” handing me ten gold pieces, worth five 
dollars apiece. I trust the reader will not say, “ And has 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


233 


Miss Elton been so long at Manville Hall without receiving 
some compensation for her services V 1 No, indeed, I had not. 
My wages were punctually paid me by the reverend uncle of 
the establishment, Mr. Charles Manville. I endeavored to 
banish avarice from my nature as much as possible ; still there 
was one thing I desired to accomplish, and one person whom 
I longed to imitate. I often examined my heart, and became 
satisfied that I was not covetous; for, notwithstanding my 
great anxiety to imitate and follow the virtuous example of 
Miss Nancy Parsons, I was willing to exercise sufficient 
patience and industry, till I could procure the comforts and 
pleasures that she had around her. I know the reader recol- 
lects my determination long ago to live and die an old maid. 
Well, Miss Nancy Parsons was an old maid, who resided near 

the populous little city of — — , in the State of . She 

owned fifty acres of fertile land. About ten acres of this 
rested beneath the shades of a lofty forest, the remainder 
was open land. Fifteen acres were well covered with blue- 
grass. Then she had several fields of timothy and clover. On 
her little farm she reared small herds of the finest breeds- of 
horned cattle, and kept a stud of several sleek fat horses. 
Two men-servants attended her fields of corn and other grain, 
and cultivated a superabundance of vegetables of every descrip- 
tion which grew in that climate, which, with butter, milk, 
cheese, honey, and luscious fruits, she sent to the market- 
place in the city, hard by, and disposed of. It seemed to me, 
that the strawberries which I used to purchase from the old 
market-man, belonging to Miss Nancy, were larger and brighter 
than those I saw others raise. Her butter was sweeter, and 
the cream that she sent in to be sold, was thicker and 
richer than common. Her fowls and mutton were tender and 
fat ; and I recollect how I used to be delighted when old 
Uncle Levi brought in his cart along with those carmine- 
striped apples, the great golden pippins, the large purple 
bonummagnums, and the mellow peaches. Then there were the 

20 * 


232 


LOUISE ELTON; 


inquired about his wife. He remarked, “ She is in very fine 
health, and seems happy. She has brought her two youngest 
children to Green Haven, and the other two will come home next 
winter. Hr. Finlay is there also, Miss Elton,” continued he, 
smiling mischievously, “ and I suppose he thinks of you oftener 
than of any one else living. He sent his compliments to you, 
by me, Miss Louise, but I knew he meant love, and you must 
receive it as such.” — “ I thank you, Colonel,” replied I; “ when 
you return present me respectfully to Hr. Finlay.” — “ With 
pleasure,” said the Colonel; “and,” rejoined he, “I will be 
obliged to you to examine Lizette and Ada, in the branches in 
which you have instructed them, as I wish to report to their Uncle 
Hoctor what they have learned.” — I commenced in the spelling 
book, and made them spell; they also read for their pa ; then I ex- 
amined Ada in geography, arithmetic, and history, and carried 
Lizette on with chemistry, botany, mythology, rhetoric, logic, and 
astronomy, and lectured her thoroughly in Murray’s Grammar. 
She really answered astonishingly ; and I saw many a tear drop 
from the eyes of their kind parent, as they responded so 
promptly to the questions I put to them. I made Lizette 
parse in pros.e, then transpose and parse blank verse. I had 
taught her to transpose and parse with great accuracy, those 
beautiful lines from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” beginning — 

“ Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad,” &c. 

She could parse and transpose several other difficult pieces, 
and, amongst them, the “ Universal Prayer,” by Pope. The 
Colonel listened attentively, and when Lizette had transposed 
the last-mentioned piece, her pa said, “ Stop, my daughter, 
that is sufficient.” Then he came to me saying, “ Miss 
Elton, here is my hand, accept of my kindest thanks for what 
you have done for my daughters, and also accept of these as a 
present from me,” handing me ten gold pieces, worth five 
dollars apiece. I trust the reader will not say, « And has 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 233 

Miss Elton been so long at Manville Hall without receiving 
some compensation for her services V* No, indeed, I had not. 
My wages were punctually paid me by the reverend uncle of 
the establishment, Mr. Charles Manville. I endeavored to 
banish avarice from my nature as much as possible ; still there 
was one thing I desired to accomplish, and one person whom 
I longed to imitate. I often examined my heart, and became 
satisfied that I was not covetous; for, notwithstanding my 
great anxiety to imitate and follow the virtuous example of 
Miss Nancy Parsons, I was willing to exercise sufficient 
patience and industry, till I could procure the comforts and 
pleasures that she had around her. I know the reader recol- 
lects my determination long ago to live and die an old maid. 
Well, Miss Nancy Parsons was an old maid, who resided near 

the populous little city of — — , in the State of . She 

owned fifty acres of fertile land. About ten acres of this 
rested beneath the shades of a lofty forest, the remainder 
was open land. Fifteen acres were well covered with blue- 
grass. Then she had several fields of timothy and clover. On 
her little farm she reared small herds of the finest breeds- of 
horned cattle, and kept a stud of several sleek fat horses. 
Two men-servants attended her fields of corn and other grain, 
and cultivated a superabundance of vegetables of every descrip- 
tion which grew in that climate, which, with butter, milk, 
cheese, honey, and luscious fruits, she sent to the market- 
place in the city, hard by, and disposed of. It seemed to me, 
that the strawberries which I used to purchase from the old 
market-man, belonging to Miss Nancy, were larger and brighter 
than those I saw others raise. Her butter was sweeter, and 
the cream that she sent in to be sold, was thicker and 
richer than common. Her fowls and mutton were tender and 
fat ; and I recollect how I used to be delighted when old 
Uncle Levi brought in his cart along with those carmine- 
striped apples, the great golden pippins, the large purple 
bonummagnums, and the mellow peaches. Then there were the 

20 * 


234 


LOUISE ELTON} 


rich black raspberries shining as if the old major domo had 
gathered his rush-basket full of beautiful black beads. I said 
to myself, “ I shall never be satisfied until I am mistress of 
a yard and garden, in which I can plant pretty trees and 
flowers, like those which grow on the edges of those nicely- 
gravelled walks that adorn the tasty homestead of this quiet 
old lady.” I was often laying out my own grounds in my 
imagination, as I sat by myself in my chamber at Manville 
Hall, and I sometimes forgot where I was, I grew so busy 
with arranging my buildings, and the round cistern I intended 
having built near my house, with the plan of my ice-house, 
dairy, pantry, my servants, my books, paintings, and the 
many little curiosities I intended placing in my domestic 
cabinet. I saw but little company at Manville Hall, and had 
but little or no desire to have tbe luxuries of life. Everything 
about us was comfortable, clean, and abundant, and I believed 
that after awhile I could, by economy, perseverance, and 
industry, accumulate sufficient means to settle myself upon the 
same happy, comfortable, and independent kind of platform, 
as* the one occupied by Miss Nancy Parsons. Whenever I 
soberly reflected upon the inequality of the circumstances of 
the people of this world, there was something in the agra- 
rian system that always fascinated and interested me. Then I 
many a time found that I was lamenting that the world had 
not belonged to me, in order that I might have called upon 
every man to come up to the general office, and enter land 
sufficient, at least, to make bread upon for himself and family. 


CHAPTEE XXXIX. 

I was sitting alone one Saturday evening, when Mr. Man- 
ville sent a servant to my room with several large packages of 
letters and newspapers. I discovered, upon perusing the 
latter, that my native State was agitated, throughout its length 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


235 


and breadth with the subject of African slavery. At the tea- 
table, I mentioned to Mr. Manville the news I had read, and 
told him my dislike of these great political storms; that, not 
like the lightning and thunder, which purify the atmosphere, 
rendering it fresh and salubrious after a hot, sultry day, 
when these political elements became excited, they blew like 
the hurricane and whirlwind, over certain regions of the country, 
tearing the loftiest trees from their places in the soil, causing 
the grand old hills to dash their tops into the valleys, and shaking 
houses to atoms over the heads of the fear-stricken inhabitants, 
burying every one and everything in the edifice in one common 
grave. As we were seated after supper in the back parlor, as 
it was called, I again mentioned to Mr. Manville that our 
politicians were at variance with one another upon the slavery 
question, and asked this well-informed, fatherly old gentle- 
man to give me his views upon this all-exciting subject. Mr. 
Manville was a native of Scotland, — he had resided in the 
city of Paris four years, — he had travelled in Germany, 
Switzerland, Italy, and Greece, and had gazed upon the im- 
perishable pyramids of Egypt; he had common sense, too, 
one of Nature’s invaluable boons, — he was highly educated, — 
he was old, and had drunk many copious draughts at the foun- 
tain of experience. I knew that he was familiarly acquainted 
with the genius and spirit of the British government; that as 
England had liberated her slaves, and claimed to be the great 
propagator of Christian philanthropy, of course I was eager to 
hear the opinion of this venerable octogenarian. I was a sub- 
scriber to several leading political journals, published in various 
places in the Union ; I also read the Edinburgh and London 
papers, for which Mr. Manville subscribed ; but so great seemed 
the confusion and excitement everywhere upon this question, 
that it was impossible for me to understand anything about it. 
“ Miss Elton,” said Mr. Manville, “ as you have requested me, 
I will express to you my own private views upon the subject of 
African slavery ; but, mark me, I am not going to open the 


236 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


lids of the Bible to prove or disprove anything about it. Some 
people, you are aware, run to the Bible to prove everything ; 
they toy with its sacred revealings, and select such gems 
from it as they wish to adorn the diadems that they are to 
wear themselves. I was acquainted with an individual once, 
who proved that drunkenness was sanctioned by the Bible, and 
he quoted to me the seventh verse of the thirty-first chapter of 
Proverbs : 1 Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remem- 
ber his misery no more/ So, by taking parts of the holy book, 
and applying them to certain things, you can prove and dis- 
prove almost anything. I knew a lady in the city of , 

who was a reader, but a very careless one. At a dinner-party one 
day, at my sister's, Mrs. Newland, I was speaking of the 
longevity of some of the antediluvians ; the names and ages of 
Methuselah, Noah, Seth, and Jared, were mentioned; you 
recollect that Methuselah lived nine hundred and sixty-nine 
years, Noah nine hundred and fifty, Seth nine hundred and 
twelve, and Jared nine hundred and sixty-two years. This 
lady contradicted me, and declared that Methuselah did not 
live so long as Moses ; that she could prove from a certain his- 
tory of the Jews that Moses was more than a thousand years 
old. She was so positive about it, and, knowing that Dr. Fin- 
lay had amongst his books the history she referred to, I sent 
to him for it. Upon examination, I found that she had 
glancingly read, or had taken sentences in a detached manner 
from the chapter, for she pointed me to this sentence : 1 Before 
the age of Herodotus, Moses lived more than a thousand years/ 
Now, she had only noticed the conclusion of the sentence, be- 
ginning at the comma just before Herodotus, which she had 
read, ‘ Moses lived more than a thousand years/ Of course 
she believed that Moses was older than Methuselah, or any of 
the other antediluvians who were distinguished for longevity. 
So, by taking detached portions of Scripture, some people prove 
and disprove what they please. I very much dislike to see 
the Word of God so familiarly and often blasphemously 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 237 

handled. It is like the son who says, ‘ My father has willed 
to me a great fortune; I can do just what I please with it. I 
will give loose rein to my desires and passions,” and in all 
the luxuries of pleasure will I riot. My money sustains me. 
The income I daily receive is inexhaustible ; and my having so 
much money is sufficient proof that I may abuse the privileges 
of fortune/ Now, to the point. 

11 1 believe that the white race are special favorites with our 
Heavenly Father; that he made the negro for their benefit, 
just as much as I believe that he made for our use the horse, 
the cow, or the sheep, only He favored us more in the mental 
structure of the negro, for He gave them power to think, to 
understand, what we desire them to do, and to converse with 
us in an intelligible manner. I believe that their hair, color, 
physical and mental organization, all emanated from design, 
that God intended that they should be subservient to the white 
race. I can lift up my hand, Miss Elton, and say in the hear- 
ing of my Maker, that I have at no time, since I have resided 
in the United States of America, felt a compunctious throb 
within my heart, because I own African slaves: still, I think 
that the good people. of this country are too slothful and indiffe- 
rent on the subject of the cruel treatment of some masters to 
their slaves. Not more than two months ago, I saw a man 
offer a likely, stout boy, aged eighteen years (just built to 
work), for sale. I knew the boy, who insisted that I would 
purchase him. Upon looking at his arms and shoulders, I 
found great gashes on him, where his unfeeling and brutal mas- 
ter had whipped him. 1 What a pity/ thought I ‘ that the law 
cannot, or will not punish this man for his wickedness/ I 
knew him to be a cruel, hard task-master, so I purchased the 
boy, brought him home with me, put him in the care of my 
beloved sister Matilda, who dressed his wounds, till they were 
healed, then I clothed him well, and gave him bed-clothing, 
and sent him to my dear son Arthur, who wanted a servant of 
his age and character. My son is a Christian, and will treat 


238 


LOUISE ELTON; 


him as he does all the slaves I have given him ; he owns three 
hundred, on three plantations, and there is not one who will say 
that master Arthur ever whipped or punished me more than 
I deserved. I believe, that if they transgress your command- 
ments, that you ought to punish them, according to the offence, 
but never give a stripe more than the act deserves. It is a 
sign of a brutal spirit, a depraved heart, and a tyrannical mind ; 
yes, ’tis a sign that the heart of that individual has never been 
purified by the sweet and mellowing influence, of that religion 
which inspires one with humility and humanity towards his 
slave. Because my negroes are as much my property as my 
carriage horses, my mules, or my oxen, is that any reason why 
I should cut and gash them, and demand more of them than 
they are able to perform ? Can I not thus argue ? My lot has 
been cast in a land, that is, comparatively speaking, submerged 
in milk and honey. I have around me every comfort, yes, 
every luxury. I am educated, and my health is good. I have 
servants in my power. I thank Grod that He has favored me : 

I will at all times, too, remember that I must not abuse His 
goodness and mercy. My horses and my oxen are able to 
perform so much. I will not allow them to be abused, nor to go 
unfed nor unhoused. My negroes have been given to me, too, 
for my use and convenience ; they are the rational stock of my 
plantation ; they are able to perform so many things, and no : 
more. I will feed them well ; they shall be well clothed ; I 
will allow them certain patches on my plantation, where they 
may cultivate such articles as they think proper. I will allow 
them time to do it. They may use the implements belonging 
to my farm ; they may dispose of their produce as profitably 
as they can. They may have churches, where they may go 
and worship Grod according to the dictates of their conscience. 
They may visit one another, and thus intermarry. I will do 
all in my power to make life as comfortable and as easy as I 
possibly can. They shall be nursed in sickness, and I will pay 
their doctor’s bills; when they die, they shall be decently 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


239 


buried, and have a funeral sermon preached by any one the 
living friends think proper to appoint. I believe African slavery 
will exist, as long as there is a white man on the earth. Eng- 
land has emancipated her African slaves, and her example 
has done little or no good. God never designed that her exam- 
ple should be followed. The system is largely tolerated in the 
Southern States of America, but abolish it here, and it will 
blow like the seeds of the plant which the botanists represent 
as having wings, and in a short time it will be disseminated 
somewhere else. I think it best to keep my slaves, and treat 
them kindly, work them according to their strength, and whip 
them in proportion to their disobedience, than to attempt to 
set them free, or to send them to some inhospitable, sickly 
region, without the means of obtaining daily bread, and subject 
them to be kidnapped and driven where I know they will be ten- 
fold more miserable than they will be as my slaves. 

u Freedom, in the head of a negro, is just like a painted toy 
in the paws of a cat. She looks at it, rolls it about over the 
floor, is amused with it till she grows hungry ; then she leaves 
it on the carpet and skips off after the mouse, or something which 
suits her appetite, for the useless bauble is of no earthly account 
to her. I have often seen children take 1 papa’s’ razor from his 
desk, mount a chair, lather the tender face, and attempt to imi- 
tate the aged sire. The cheek, however, is too soft, and the 
juvenile hand is too feeble to wield a weapon of that sharpness 
and nicety ; the little fellow soon finds that he is unskilled in the 
business of a barber, he therefore lays the instrument back in 
the drawer. You may say that he will, after awhile, when he 
reaches the years of manhood, be strong, and have use for the 
razor, and that he will know what to do with it ; and so will 
the negro know what to do with freedom, if he be educated 
and learned; that at some period he will properly use the 
privileges of that too often prostituted term liberty, just as the 
boy uses 1 papa’s’ razor when he becomes a man. I do not 
believe it — I do not believe that the negro ever can arrive at 


240 


LOUISE ELTON; 


the same height that the white man reaches. I believe that 
freedom, amongst negroes, is just as useless as razors amongst 
children. The current of a negro’s mind runs within certain 
embankments. These were designed never to be overflowed, 
and it was designed that no other streamlet or river should 
flow into that one, fixed current, for it needs no tributary at 
all ; moreover, I believe that God stationed its limits, and said 
as he did to the waters of the ocean, ‘thus far shalt thou 
rage and no farther; that he designed the mental powers 
of the Ethiopian and Mongolian to be confined to narrow 
limits, and to be like water within certain embankments, which 
are too lofty to be overflowed by the most rapid of streamlets. 
The negro has not the natural capacity to acquire education 
that the white man has, and it would be both useless and 
foolish to educate the African. How simple and unprofitable 
it would be for a physician to go every day to the couch of a 
dwarf, and pull him by the legs, and declare that he believed 
that he could by practice make him a man of six feet in stature. 
I knew a lady once who punished her daughter because she 
could not cultivate an unnatural taste for music. The mother 
kept a rigid governante over her daughter every day for 
years, endeavoring to make her pleased with what she natu- 
rally hated. One day the daughter thus addressed her: 

6 Mother, Nature never intended me for a musician. I have 
no taste for it, — I dislike it, and the phrenologist says that I 
have no musical development. Now, mother, you know that I 
love to sew and knit ; I have a natural talent for such things, 
and as I expect to be married one of these days, and believe 
that my husband will prefer my sitting beside him with my 
needles, &c., to listening to my squalling and banging at the 
piano and guitar, therefore I see no sense in your forcing me 
to squander so many hours in trying to cultivate those unre- 
claimable and arid spots in the soil of my brain. To music I 
have been born blind, and why torment me further by attempt- 
ing to give me eyes ! The piano never was made for me,— I 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 241 

was created to sew and knit/ Now, I do not believe that the 
African negro was ever intended to be educated, or that maps, 
globes, or a chemical or philosophical apparatus, can ever be 
successfully used by him ; neither was he designed for a states- 
man, a poet, an orator, or a philosopher. We are continually 
hearing of the complaints of our brethren of the North, and of 
foreigners, relative 'to the degraded condition of the slaves of 
the southern portion of the Union ; that they are unenlightened 
by education ; that, extend the same advantages to the negro 
that we extend to the white boy, and grant him the same 
privileges, and in time he will equal the white boy in talents, 
energy of character, refinement, philosophy, enterprise, wealth, 
and eloquence. I do not believe it. ’Tis a picture drawn, 
painted, and varnished in the school of fanaticism, which ere 
long will only serve as combustibles at the furnace of Wis- 
dom. I care not how highly you polish the intellect of an * 
Ethiopian, he never, never will equal the white man. 

“ I believe, if the finest scholar in the United States was to 
come and select two boys of this neighborhood, one a white and 
the other a black boy, each say at seven years of age, and give 
them the most accomplished education they are capable of 
receiving — each being of good mind — preparatory to putting 
them to college, then send them to the first college in the 
Union, let them graduate, send them to Oxford, in England, 
cause them to remain there four years, and give them access 
to the Bodleian library of that institution ; let them go to 
Rome, and study in the Vatican Library, where I saw, in 1829, 
five hundred thousand volumes, or to the Ambrosian Library 
of Milan, where I saw one hundred thousand books, or to the 
St. Genevieve, which has one hundred and ten thousand, or 
the Pantheon, with as many, the Royal library, with three 
hundred and seventy thousand volumes (the last three are in 
Paris, Prance) ; then give them means, and send them travel- 
ing to all the most instructive and interesting portions of the 
Old and the New World; bring them home again, and the 

21 


242 


LOUISE ELTON; 


white man, as he will then be, will be as far ahead of the negro, 
the President of the United States is of one of the caciques of 
the West Indies. It is true, however, that the phenomenon 
strikes us with greater force, because we see so few negroes 
educated. It is the novelty of the thing that charms and in- 
terests us, and not because the African has principles or ele- 
ments in his organization equal in grandeur and beauty to those 
of the white man. How much greater the sight would a mag- 
nificent palace reared in Lapland be to the inhabitant of that 
desolate region, who is accustomed to his rude hut and reindeer, 
than to us, who see a superb edifice at every angle we turn ? 
But transport one of those grotesque and curious buildings 
from Lapland, and place it in the midst of our fine fabrics, and 
we look at it because it is a curiosity, for many of us never 
saw one before, and we even pass the palace, the chateau, and 
* the cathedral, to look upon this miserably constructed cottage ; 
but we would regard an individual as a lunatic, were he to tell 
us that he believed some of our architects sufficiently skilful to 
convert this rough hut of poles and mud into an elegant man- 
sion. What is the reason that we gaze with so much more 
astonishment and interest at a comet than we do at the sun ? 
The singularity of the phenomenon, its mysterious appearance, 
and its novelty, attract us; we are not accustomed to such 
things, and we declare that it is equal in grandeur to the sun, 
and that it surpasses the moon and seven stars in splendor, but 
it is a mistake, and as we see one so seldom, of course it ex- 
cites us ; for, we know all the time that the sun, which lavishes 
so many rays of light and so much heat upon our globe every 
day, is far greater than all the comets commingled into one 
orb, and greater than all those gems which glitter in the em- 
pyrean concave. The white race in mind are just like the 
sun, they are capable of holding the different systems of the 
world in their proper places ; — the moon cannot do it, neither 
can the stars nor the planets; all the other varieties of the 
human species then are like satellites, planets, and stars, from 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


243 


the first to the sixth magnitude, and they revolve around the 
Caucasian race, who shed the rays of wisdom and virtue upon 
these independent dependents. Let me again entreat you, my 
daughter, to impress it upon your mind, that I believe there 
is no sin in owning slaves. I believe that great sins, however, 
are to be atoned for though, by those who have treated them 
inhumanly and unkindly. You might ask me if I did not wish 
for the time to come when the lake that burns with fire and 
brimstone shall be opened to receive those who have acted so 
cruelly ? I will tell you that I do not ; that I hope the light 
of humanity may yet shine around them as effectively as the 
bright rays which shone around Paul from Heaven, when he 
was nearing Damascus, with his wicked hands still wet with the 
blood of those whom he had persecuted, bound and delivered 
into prison. 0, that some righteous Ananias may come to 
them, and put his hands upon them, and they receive new 
sight, and then learn to be merciful, and inscribe these verses 
upon their once cruel hearts, — 

“ ‘ Teach me to feel another’s woe, 

To hide the fault I see ; 

That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me.’ 

11 1 know that Europe groans and bleeds at every pore, under 
the lash of her tyrannical rulers. She imagines herself free, 
and she believes that the lamp of liberty burns upon all of 
her altars, as well as in her princely tabernacles. She feels 
it a duty obligatory upon herself to attempt to sever the ma- 
nacles of the African in America; England, too, will tell 
you that she has manumitted all her slaves. True, all her 
African slaves have been emancipated, but what will she say 
of herself and her sister nations, when the cataract that now 
dims her eyes is cut from them, and she looks over her chains 
that have been linked together by tyrants and monsters ? when 
she sees the ouibliettes , the gens-d’ armes, and the multitudes of 
starving mendicants, that rove about free, ay, too free! the 


244 


LOUISE ELTON; 


pillories, the racks, the jailers, the moutons, the dungeons of 
dirty, rotten, wet straw, where hundreds of the people of free 
Europe have dragged out their unhappy lives. Gro! philan- 
thropic Europe ! abolish all these causes of human misery ! 
file the chains from the ankles of your own down-trodden 
people ! undo that spancel, which dooms such sorrowful vic- 
tims to your lordly power; then cross the sea, and we will 
have a lengthy argument about African slavery in America. 
And to our brethren of the North, I say you certainly have the 
right to lecture us of the South, about what you consider a 
moral wrong. I have the right to return the compliment, and 
to believe and receive as many of your arguments as I think 
true, and upon true premises, and so have you; but, we are 
opposed to your coming amongst us, and exciting our slaves 
with your well-painted landscapes of freedom and education. 
I do not believe a word you say upon this subject, nor do I 
believe that you are either richer, happier, better, more in- 
telligent, or refined than we. Your dense population, of which 
you so often boast, is no proof of your wealth, quietude, or 
happiness. When you tell me that you can show ten citizens 
to our two, I will be bound that seven of them are poor, ragged, 
hungry beggars ; driven from the Old World by war, famine, 
tyranny, and cruelty. In place of your ten wretched freemen, 
I can show you two negroes, fat, lively, polite, and well- 
clothed.” — “Very well, then,” said I, “ Mr. Manville, you cer- 
tainly believe that the African race belong to the human genus, 
but that they are a remote variety of the human race, and differ 
from the white species, just as much as the little sour crab- 
apple differs from the huge, mellow, and luscious queen-apple, 
while both belong to the same species, and thus vary as the 
different kinds of fruit vary, and just as the pyrus species pro- 
duces the innumerable varieties of the apple, crab-apple and 
pear ? And, sir : do you not believe that the African, also, 
has an immortal soul, as well as we ? and tell me how you 
can excuse that class of beings who are denominated slave- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 245 

drivers ? who buy and sell negroes — human beings — just as 
they purchase horses, mules, or sheep, for as negroes have 
some feeling, although, I may admit that they have not that 
keen and delicately nerved sensibility that we have, yet do you 
not consider it a dark sin in any one to purchase and sell them, 
and often tear them from their fathers, mothers, and kindred ? 
Now Mr. Manville, do you not think that this is cruel, and that 
God will hold mankind accountable for such unmerciful con- 
duct ?” — “ Yes, my dear l” answered he, “ I believe that the 
negro belongs to the human genus, and that he is a distant 
variety of the human species ; I believe, also, that he has a 
soul, either to be saved or lost, and that God will exact no 
more of him than he has endowed him with capacity to perform. 
The slave-driver many a time, no doubt, abuses the privileges 
of the law, and where they do nothing else for a support but 
buy and sell slaves, as the trader buys and sells four-footed 
stock, I regard it as an infringement upon the moral law, and 
I wish such a thing could be suppressed; but where men are le- 
gally authorized to do so, many who are engrossed with the love 
of worldly gain, forget that they are sinfully abusing the privi- 
leges of Heaven. Alas ! however, how apt we are to run into 
such things ; the glory of earthly grandeur, which wealth can 
purchase, is so eagerly sought for, that we often forget our 
duty to God, and to one another ; and how prone, alas ! we 
are to misuse and abuse the little power that falls to our lot. 
You recollect that Solomon grew discontented, and had seven 
hundred wives and three hundred concubines, and fell by effemi- 
nacy and luxury into idolatry ! The slave-driver becomes 
dissatisfied perhaps, with, furnishing this rational stock to the 
Southern planter, with whom it is indispensable ; but he has 
the privilege to drive them as he would a mule, or a horse ; and 
like Solomon he abuses the moral right. But for a South- 
erner, who has a plantation, to come to one of our States and 
purchase slaves for his own use, I do not consider that there is 

21 * 


246 


LOUISE ELTON; 


any sin in it at all, and the only sin he will he called upon to 
atone for is this : if he has treated them cruelly, and not ex- 
tended to them the comforts and privileges that every human 
master should extend to his slave. Well, you may say that 
the planter who purchases for his plantation may tear asunder 
the social ties as well as the slave-driver. I respond, that nine 
times out of ten there is no necessity for his doing so, as our 
Southern planters generally prefer purchasing whole families 
at once. And should they even separate some, humanity 
should prevail, and they should have a family by law, and ob- 
serve it, that these slaves shall hear from their friends and 
commune with them by letter. I presume that all of our 
planters can write, and as they are thus favored with education, 
they ought to use it to the advantage of the slave ; for one 
might as well say, u I can write, I know, but it is of no use 
for me to apply my talent in that particular to the African.” 
This again is an abuse of privilege; for he might just as well 
say, ‘ 1 know my slave is starving for bread, and I have plenty 
of money, I could buy it for him if I chose, but no, it is of 
no use, he’s nothing but a nigger.’ Interrogate my sisters, 
Miss Louise, and you will find that they carry on a regular cor- 
respondence with the slaves of Manville Hall, and those be- 
longing to the plantations of my son Arthur, and several other 
places. My slaves are gratified to hear from their relations, 
and although they may be separated for life, they are assured 
that those whom they have left in a distant land, are kindly 
cared for, and treated with humanity. I left my native land 
when I was young, and went to France. I left my mother in 
tears and sorrow at my departure. It is true, however, that 
I could have returned to her, but how many thousands of white 
people leave home and never return, and all the satisfaction to 
them, after they become wanderers, is enjoyed through episto- 
lary conversation. If the slaves of the different States occa- 
sionally heard from their families, and were assured that they 
were humanely treated, less reluctance would be felt by those 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 247 

who are purchased and carried away. In short, I believe that 
the laws of our country ought to hold every person accountable 
for his or her cruel treatment to their slaves ; that when one 
neighbor sees another give his slave an unmerciful beating, or 
knows him to abuse him in any way, if he is not comfortably 
clothed, well fed, nursed in sickness, and allowed to enjoy the 
society of his fellow Africans, and also allowed to go to church 
and worship his God, I say that I wish all such people could 
be legally dealt with, and that cruelty to the slaves be made a 
penitentiary offence, and punished accordingly ; for who would 
give a button for a law that is not rigidly enforced, when the 
happiness and comfort of a person is involved?” — “Then,” 
again said I, “ Mr. Manville, if you allow the planter to pur- 
chase slaves, and prohibit the slave-driver from doing the same, 
would not your plan be an anti-republican one ? and would you 
not allow them the privilege of purchasing rational as well as 
irrational stock ?” — “ Yes, the slave-driver might supply the 
Southern planter just as the horse-driver does, provided he is 
a humane man ; and if he is not so, the law should punish 
him ; and when he disposes of his drove of stock, let the pur- 
chaser treat them kindly and religiously ; but I deprecate the 
practice of permitting every ruffian of a man to be going about 
the country, picking up a sl^ve here and there, and then hand- 
cuffing him and disposing of him to anybody, just for specula- 
tion ; besides, Miss Louise, I do think that there should be 
some distinction in the treatment of the rational and irrational 
stock. You are aware that some of the breeds of horned cattle 
require different treatment from the long shaggy-haired bul- 
lock that ranges the field. I am in favor of humanity to 
brutes, and of course, I am in favor of treating, with the ten- 
derest humanity, that portion of my rational stock, with which 
Heaven has complimented me; so by holding every man 
accountable by law, for his treatment to his slave, I would 
not only not go contrary to, but strengthen, the principles of 
republicanism ; for as we live in a republican government, and 


248 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


every one is permitted to be a slave-driver who chooses, some 
limitation must be made, certain privileges be allowed, and 
no more. The laws of the country must force people to do 
their duty to their slaves, and punish them if they do not do 
it. It is the cruelty of a few, who have been permitted 
to escape the penalty of the law, that has disgraced the 
reputation of the many, who own slaves, and who treat 
them with humanity. How often, my child, has the congre- 
gation of Christ been disgraced by some, who are murderers 
and drunkards, and still, you know that the purity of Christ's 
institution upon earth is untarnished; and thus it is with 
the institution of African slavery." I thanked my patriarchal 
friend for the trouble he had taken to instruct me. As the 
lamp upon the old centre-table was beginning to flicker, 
and every now and then drop within the oil-receiver, I bade the 
kind-hearted father good night, and hastened to my chamber, 
with a mind at rest upon a subject which, at times, had caused 
me no little sorrow and vexation. 


CHAPTER XL. 

The second winter at Manvillg Hall came on very early. 
One of the deepest snows that I ever saw, fell on the second day 
of November. In the middle of the month, while the earth 
was frozen, and the chilling rains of November often pouring 
down, our venerable friend, Mr. Manville, was taken sick. I 
had heard him complain several times during the fall, of giddi- 
ness and swimming in his head, and he told us one day that he 
was sometimes blind in his left eye, and felt a singular, shooting 
pain through his ears. He had often expressed his dread of 
apoplexy, but was, at this time, prostrated with pleurisy. Dr. 
Murray attended him, and considered him in a very critical 
situation. We had hitherto been a healthy family at the Hall. 
Ada had been in delicate health, but she was now fleshy and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


249 


rosy. Mrs. Newland's disease was asthma, which plagued her 
considerably, but we did not consider her in danger, and we 
had offered prayers to Heaven, twice a day, in conjunction 
with Parson Macdonald, for our health and happiness. We 
congratulated one another upon our situation, away from the 
vanity and deception of the world. We had lived so tem- 
perately and so methodically, and as the religious formalities of 
the Hall forbade one from interfering with the business of 
another, we were all bound by the cords of attachment and 
truth. 

The reader has long ago learned that the family of Manvilles 
were genuine Scotch people. Those at the Hall were like their 
countrymen in old Scotia. They were always polite, refined, 
dignified, and warm-hearted; still, they never seemed to have 
that taste for becoming intimate, and often making, like the 
people of the United States, what they call confidants and 
bosom-friends. If a Scotchman once likes you, and you culti- 
vate his friendship, it is generally the most abiding of any in 
the world ; and no matter to what point of the compass he may 
steer, you are not forgotten. This description of friendship 
will last until you do something to prove to the true-hearted 
Caledonian that you are deceitful ; then he never trusts you. 
He often forgives, but never forgets ; and although he is not 
apt to take any advantage of you or to speak harshly of 
you, even in case he does not like you, still, he will not be 
willing to risk his u goods again aboard your bark,” if 
he has ever had the slightest grounds for suspecting that you 
have been sailing under the pennant of a corsair. In our se- 
clusion and unwavering friendship, we almost forgot that sick- 
ness could come over the mountains. Their lofty spires looked 
as if they might fortify us against the trials of the outer world. 
Daily, our old father of the Hall grew worse, and it now be- 
came necessary for some one to sit up with him during the 
night. Parson Macdonald, Mrs. Newland, Miss Matilda, Mrs. 
Peebles, and an old gentleman of the name of Falkirk, assisted 


250 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


by the servants of the Hall, watched him alternately. I offered 
my services to Miss Matilda, but she kindly and politely in- 
formed me that her brother had so many to nurse him that I 
need not be disturbed. His chamber was kept dark, and as 
quiet as the chamber of death. I often went to the door which 
opened upon the gallery, but it was fastened, and for fear of 
startling my worthy friend, I forbore to knock for admittance. 
I stood there, listening to his groans, many a time, till I was 
driven away by the pinching winds of the season. One night, 
during his illness, I was waked by a faint cry. I did not know 
what it was. It seemed to be about the Hall, too, and sounded 
like the scream of a young child. I arose on my elbow to 
listen, first thinking that I had been dreaming ; but as the cry 
grew louder and stronger, I got out of bed, opened my door on 
the gallery, and listened. I could hear persons talking, and still 
heard the cries of the child. I walked out on the gallery, a few 
paces, but as my school-room and Miss Ashmore’s closed apart- 
ment were between my chamber and that of Mr. Manville, it was 
impossible for me to distinguish what was going on. It was 
evident, however, that the child was crying in his apartment. 
It was a novel sound, indeed, to hear the cries of a child 
about Manville Hall, and I began directly to think of the pri- 
vate staircase that led from Mr. Manville’ s room to the little 
gate in the back yard, and also to form conjectures of the nar- 
row alley, thickly covered with vines, that so closely interlaced 
the slats which supported them, that a bird could not fly 
through them. I had frequently observed Mr. Manville come 
out of the stair-door, and pass beneath this alley of vines. 
It led to the edge of a peach orchard. After he walked a little 
way down the alley, the deep shade obstructed my line of 
vision, so that I could not see him. I had frequently been 
through the peach-orchard ; but I had never seen a vestige of 
a human habitation beyond it, or near it. — I heard persons 
talking, and the child screaming, all the time I stood there. 
I also was thinking of the mysterious Ivanora, and had long 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


251 


ago concluded that the “ vine-covered alley” and back-door of 
the narrow stairway, leading from Mr. Manville's chamber, 
was the way she came to the Hall. The cry of the child still 
rung in my ears. I stepped again into my chamber to see if 
Lizette, Ada, or Dorcas had stirred. I heard them breathing 
lowly and tranquilly, and then I stole softly to the upper part 
of the gallery. u What shall I do,” said I to myself, “if any 
of the family open the door of Mr. Manville's chamber and 
find me here ?” They will call me an eavesdropper, and this I 
cannot bear ; for after remaining so long at the Hall, in credit 
with the family, how can I bear, for so trivial a circumstance, 
to mar their faith in me ! Reader, do you know anything of a 
woman's curiosity, under such circumstances, too? If so, 
Louise is excused. 

Notwithstanding that I was shaking like the aspen's leaf, as 
I had become thoroughly chilled, I determined that I would 
attempt to see what was going on in Mr. Manville's room, and 
risk being caught. I heard other sobs and groans, besides 
those from Mr. Manville's couch and of the poor child, who 
seemed to be suffering. Some one else was weeping in that 
ancient chamber, as well as the child. I crept back to my 
room, put on a pair of thick yarn stockings, and my cloak, 
then took a little chair in my hand, which I placed under the 
window opening from Mr. Manville’s room, upon the gal- 
lery. I stood on it and looked over the curtain which veiled 
the lower sash of lights. I saw my beloved old friend, imme- 
diately before me, prostrate on his snow-white couch. He 
looked pale and gloomy ; beside his bed stood Miss Matilda, 
and on the foot sat Parson Macdonald. At the fireplace was 
Mrs. Peebles, who was holding a child, it seemed to be in great 
pain, as it writhed in her arms and screamed violently. In an 
old-fashioned chair sat a magnificent-looking gentleman, to 
me a total stranger, and he held on his lap the delicate, sylph- 
like figure of a female ! The woman seemed to be in the 
greatest agony ; she wept, while her arms were clasped closely 


252 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


about the neck of the stranger. She was dressed in black, and 
looked pale by the dim taper that gleamed from the ancient 
mantelpiece ; and those long auburn ringlets of which I had 
heard fell in great, thick clusters over the shoulder of the gen- 
tleman in whose arms she was weeping. Presently I heard 
her sweet, plaintive voice. She said, “ Oh ! Uncle Arthur, 
how can I quit weeping ! whenever I gaze on you, my poor 
darling Louis’s image is before me ! Oh, Louis ! Oh Uncle 
Arthur! what shall I do?” — “ Indeed, Ivanora,” said Miss 
Matilda, “ you must not weep, and call poor Louis’s name in 
the hearing of Brother Charles, for he is too low to hear his 
name, as it revives so many painful recollections. Try and 
compose yourself, my dear; we are all afflicted by your grief, 
but can do nothing.” She still wept, and clung to her uncle, 
who was the Arthur Manville of whom the reader has heard. 
At this moment I saw a figure emerge from the bedside, next 
to the wall, and approach Parson Macdonald and whisper some- 
thing to him. Reader, I nearly fell on the gallery floor, for 
after he spoke to Parson Macdonald, and looked for a moment 
at his watch, he turned partly around to go to the group at the 
fireplace, and I recognised the intellectual and calm physi- 
ognomy of my friend Dr. Finlay! “ Doctor,” said the weep- 
ing woman, “ please do something for my child ? Oh 
wretched ! unhappy me ! Doctor what shall I do, to cure my 
anguished heart? Doctor,” continued she, “is my darling 
child ill?” — “Oh no, Ivanora; try and compose yourself, my 
dear, and be guarded. Do you not know that you will cause 
your grandpa a great many pangs, if you mention Louis ?” — 
“Well, I ask pardon,” said the sorrowful woman; “I will be 
calm and not distress my dear old grandpa. I hope he was 
asleep, when I unguardedly spoke of poor Louis. Whenever 
I see Uncle Arthur, I cannot avoid thinking of the past. I see 
everything, and my heart bleeds, as it did at that dreadful 
moment. Then Uncle Arthur pressed the weeping woman closer 
to his heart, and put his handkerchief to his eyes, as if his tears 


OR. THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


253 


were gathering, and I thought, with Madame de Stael “ that 
some unwonted nerve of the heart was touched.” Again Dr. 
Finlay walked to the bedside of the suffering old gentleman 
and examined his pulse, while he held his watch in his hand. 
I had then a perfect view of his manly face. He was a tall, 
elegantly formed gentleman ; and I had but one objection to 
his personal appearance and that was because his eyes were not 
black. I wondered how he came there, at that hour of the 
night, but contented myself with the conclusion that he had 
come to see “ the children,” as he said he intended doing, when 
I saw him at Green Haven. I was upon the eve of quitting 
the window, when Dr. Finlay came to his uncle again, who 
had not left his place on the foot of Mr. Manville’s bed. He 
touched Parson Macdonald on the shoulder, and said, “ Has 
Ivanora heard anything of that fellow lately ? — “ Not a word,” 
replied Parson Macdonald. — “ Villainous ! villainous !” said 
Dr. Finlay, curving his lip as in scorn. 

“Is the child ill, Walter?” said Parson Macdonald, to Dr. 
Finlay. “ Not at all,” wask his reply, and, continued he, “the 
mother is naturally of a nervous, excitable temperament, and 
of course is now frightened at trifles, and after suffering so 
greatly, nothing else may be expected.” Still the child every 
once in a while would scream, as if a keen pain shot piercingly 
through its little body. Dr. Finlay was preparing a powder in 
a teacdp of warm water, to administer to it, when I stepped 
again on the floor of the gallery, took up the little chair, and 
went into my room, to reflect on the dark mystery which hung 
over Ivanora. I rather reproached myself, for having listened 
to the conversation I had heard in Mr. Manville's chamber ; 
but then I had so much curiosity to know what was going on 
there, and I felt as all women do, when there is a shadow 
over one of our sex : we every one desire to see into its pene- 
tralia, and many a time would rather do so unseen by any 
eye than not. I therefore had no malicious motive, in eaves- 
dropping; not because I wished to gossip about anything I saw 


254 


LOUISE ELTON; 


and heard, but the screams of the little sufferer, and the mourn- 
ful wailings of the disconsolate mother, enlisted my sympathy 
and attention. I regretted that I was not permitted to offer 
my soothing balm of affection to the grief-stricken young 
woman, which I felt flow into my heart, as I gazed on the 
lovely creature. I could not sleep again that night for think- 
ing of what I had heard about Louis. I had been informed 
that Mr. Manville’s son had been murdered, and that some 
dark deed had been done at Manville Hall. I saw nothing, 
however, to justify the suspicion that the family were anything 
but pious, refined, intelligent people ; ever ready to “ do justice, 
love mercy, and walk humbly before God.” I also had heard that 
Arthur Manville had been arraigned before the tribunal of his 
country for some alleged crime, and acquitted. That Ivanora and 
Arthur Manville were closely concerned in the affair relating 
to Louis, I was satisfied ; but in what way I could not tell. 
It was an enigma to me, and one which I feared would never 
be explained to my inquisitive mind. 


CHAPTER XL I. 

Early in the morning I arose and made considerable change 
in my toilette. I knew that I was to see Dr. Finlay, and also 
Arthur Manville, who was a stranger to me. While I was 
dressing, Lizette and Ada came running back to our chamber, 
to tell me that “ Uncle Doctor and Uncle Arthur” had ar- 
rived in the night, and that “ dear Uncle Charles was not going 
to die ; that Uncle Doctor had said he would get well.” When 
I was equipped, I went down to the parlor to attend prayer. 
Dr. Finlay met me with smiles, shook my hand very cordially, 
then introduced me to Dr. Manville, who was, sure enough, 
the distinguished “son Arthur,” of whom I had so often 
heard. I responded by my actions to the great pleasure I saw 
Dr. Finlay evince, when he grasped my hand. He seemed de- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 255 

termined to be as gallant, too, as he bad been at our first 
meeting, for when I attempted to sit down at some dis- 
tance, he took hold of my arm, and said in a whisper, “ Sit 
here, Louise.” I saw that he still loved to pronounce the 
name of Louise, and it appeared that he gave a more tender 
expression to the name at that time than he had formerly done. 
There is always something in those fine, soft touches of words 
and tones, easily detected, when they are sent forth by the 
delicate and tender sensibilities of a devoted heart. Parson 
Macdonald’s prayer, according to custom, was pathetic and 
eloquent, still I could not concentrate my thoughts upon his 
pure words. His nephew, Dr. Walter Finlay, was devoutly 
kneeling near me, and I kept thinking about him. I was just 
like a person in an infected room, who scarcely breathes, so 
much afraid is he that he will inhale the malady. I believed, 
from the actions of the interesting Doctor, that he was pleased 
with me. Mrs. Kipton had declared that he loved me, and I 
seemed then to regard love as infectious ; still, I had not that 
quick perception, of which some women boast, for I was 
once acquainted with a lady, who told me that “if half a 
dozen gentlemen called upon her at the same time, she could 
point out every one of them who would address her upon 
the subject of matrimony.” I had promised myself that I 
would not love, still, if the Doctor really loved me, I feared 
that I might be infected by the disorder. I carelessly said to 
myself in a whisper, “ Doctor, you are a fascinating creature, 
and you pronounce my name so sweetly that I could love you, 
I believe, but your eyes are not black !” After we all arose 
from our knees, and breakfast was announced, the Doctor offered 
his arm to me, and we entered the room together and sat down 
to the table, opposite to Arthur Manville and Parson Mac- 
donald. Mrs. Newland took the foot of the table, and Miss 
Matilda the head, the place she had occupied since her arrival 
at Manville Hall. Mrs. Newland declared that she would 
take dear Brother Charles’s place, as Parson Macdonald was 


256 


LOUISE ELTON; 


fatigued sitting up at night, and Arthur and Walter had tra- 
velled so far the preceding day that “we will not impose the 
duties of the foot of the table upon either of you.” 

I regretted it, for I shrunk from the glances of the two 
distinguished gentlemen before me. I had met old Parson 
Macdonald a thousand times about the Hall and the premises, 
and I had not until that morning observed that he took any 
particular notice of me. Now, his inquisitive eyes were directed 
at me ; I was facing him, and it seemed to me that as he gazed 
at me and then at “Walter,” that he was drawing a silent 
comparison. I observed that Dr. Manville looked at me in a 
way that made me blush, but he seemed to notice my confusion, 
and then, as if he wished to make me feel at ease, he addressed 
something to me, hut I made mistakes when I responded to 
him, my hands trembled, and I dropped my knife on the floor. 
Dr. Finlay observed my confusion, and whispered to me, “ Never 
mind, Louise, do not be so timid.” I looked at him, and in- 
stantly caught a ray of that self-command and calmness which 
was a predominant characteristic in the countenance of my friend, 
and I became more tranquil. Dr. Finlay was decidedly the 
most composed man at the table. I thought I could easily 
read Parson Macdonald's thoughts in his countenance. He 
seemed to think, “Well, I have been here almost two years 
with Miss Elton ; my ecclesiastical duties have chiefly engaged 
my attention. She has seldom, if ever, missed coming to 
prayer ; she is regularly at church ; I am also very well satis- 
fied with her management and instruction of Lizette and Ada, 
still, I have paid but little attention to her till Walter men- 
tioned her name to me.” Arthur was more cunning ; he talked 
to his aunt Newland and to Miss Matilda, and kept joking 
Lizette and Ada, who were as affectionate towards “Uncle 
Arthur” as they were towards “ Uncle Doctor.” Arthur was 
their cousin, but they called him uncle, and had a thousand ques- 
tions to ask him, because his plantations adjoined the one on 
which resided “ Llewellyn Percy and Sister Kate.” I went to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 257 

my school-room after breakfast, and shortly after Ada came 
to me, saying, “ Miss Louise, Uncle Doctor says 1 Come down to 
the library •/ there is a good fire there, and he wishes to see 
you.” I hastened down to him, and as soon as I was within 
the room he remarked, “ My dear Louise, I am highly pleased 
to meet you again, and you need not go to school to-day ; His 
too cold ; spend the day with me. In revisiting this old stone 
pile, I feel as I imagine Adam and Eve would have felt, if 
some angel had after a few years carried them back to Eden. 
Some of my happiest and bitterest moments have been passed 
beneath this roof. Here is an old book,” said he, rising, and 
taking the Life of Washington from the book-case, “in which 
I made a quotation once in early life, upon standing again in 
this antiquated library.” I took the book and read these 
exquisite lines : 

“ What is this charm which thrills through all my nerves, 

And seeks my inmost soul? ’Tis nature’s voice 
Invites her erring sons to rural peace. 

Why, eager, leave the home of pure delight, 

And seek, through ocean storms or din of war, 

The pleasures which the humblest peasant finds 
Freely bestowed in his sequestered cot ! 

’Twas here my infant footsteps trod, where truth 
And nature boundless reign. Here art’s dull film, 

Sordid and false, drops from uncheating eyes, 

The social feelings now resume their sway ; 

Delightful, tender, penetrant, and strong, 

As is the giant’s grasp. 

Where is my term of life that’s gone ? With years 
Of good Aurelius. Blest hills and vales, 

Where my first vision dawned ! and talking streams, 

How much you tell me, I had else forgot ! 

Yqs, there’s a charm around the native home, 

Could make the miser, for awhile, forget 
His gold ; and call the felon back to virtue.” 

I carefully perused these expressive lines, then handed the 
book to the Doctor, and asked him who was the author of them. 

22 * 


258 


LOUISE ELTON; 


u I do not recollect,” replied be. “ I was in hopes you could 
inform me.” I began, and asked him then a great many ques- 
tions about Green Haven, and Mrs. Kipton ; and pleasant, in- 
deed, were the reminiscences of our first acquaintance, and of 
my brother Alva ; our evening's promenade; our conversations, 
&c., &c. I thought Dr. Finlay more agreeable than I had ever 
seen him ; and I often interrogated my heart to know if there 
was not a secret web of love weaving itself over it. My short 
reverie was broken by Dr. Finlay, who, closing the doors of a 
book-case, rbsumed his chair beside me, saying, “ Louise, you 
know not how anxious I have been to come to the Hall, since 
you have been here. I have fixed twenty days, I know, and 
said I would start ; but whenever a doctor sets a day to go a 
journey, or even make an ordinary visit, that is the very day 
on which the whole neighborhood will be taken sick. I kept 
waiting and promising. Then I would write to you, and burn 
the letter — I feared that you would not reply to me. And 
even if you had replied, it would perhaps have been in 
a style calculated to make me a 1 desparing suicide;' but after 
Colonel Manville returned to Green Haven, and told me 
about seeing you here, the admiration he expressed of you re- 
vived all that which filled my heart the first moment I saw 
you. I received a letter from Dr. Manville — or Cousin Arthur 
— who was exceedingly anxious to visit his aged father, and 
we concluded to come this month. We both felt an inexpres- 
sible anxiety to revisit this old Hall and its environs together; 
and since our arrival last night, I suppose that ten thousand 
reminiscences of bygone days have all been dreamed over.” 
I knew that when Dr. Finlay lived over his earlier years, 
it made him so melancholy that it was painful to hear him 
converse on the subject, and as I wished him to be happy during 
his stay at Manville Hall, I said, “ Doctor, do you play back- 
gammon with any one at Green Haven now ?” I wanted to 
turn his thoughts into another channel.— 1 “ I have not played 
lately,” replied he, u but now that you have reminded me of 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 259 

it, we will play.” — “ Play backgammon at Manville Hall!” 
said I; “it would be encroaching upon the religious ceremonies 
of the Hall, Doctor. Mrs. Newland and Miss Matilda would 
run out of the house were they to open the library door, and 
see such a novel sight as two persons playing at backgammon; 
besides, Mr. Manville is too ill for us to think of such a thing. 
Dear me, Doctor, Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland have so 
many conscientious scruples.” But the Doctor was not so 
easily persuaded as I supposed he would be. “ Now,” replied 
he, “ Louise you are mistaken about Mr. Manville. I do not 
consider him dangerously ill, at all; and I'll have him out 
of that chamber in three days. He is able to sit up this morn- 
ing, and to transact business with Arthur; and don’t you be- 
lieve that Mrs. Newland or Miss Matilda either will faint at 
the sight of a backgammon box ; I have played many a game 
with them.” — “ But,” said I, “ Doctor, there is your uncle, 
Parson Macdonald, who spends three-fourths of his time in the 
library here ; now what would you say if he opens the door ? 
besides, I do not think that there is a board about the Hall.” 
— “ Never mind uncle,” continued Dr. Finlay, “ we will bolt 
him out. I know more about Manville Hall than you do, my 
dear Louise, and if you will consent to play with me, I will 
order the backgammon box and its contents to be brought.” 
I consented — reluctantly, however, for I was so familiar with 
the rigid economy of the Hall, that I felt a backwardness in 
playing. I knew that Dr. Finlay had every day and night, 
for years, had the excitement of his practice to engage his 
attention, and I feared that he would too often relapse into 
those melancholy thoughts of bygone hours, if I did not exert 
myself to interest him. Lizette and Ada had also informed 
me that “ Uncle Doctor” was going to stay two weeks at the 
Hall, so I gave my assent, and then he rung the library bell. 
When the servant came to him, I heard him say, “ Go to the 
cottage, and tell Mrs. Falkirk to send me Miss Ivanora’s 
backgammon box, with the men, dice, and dice-boxes.” 


260 


LOUISE ELTON; 


After awhile the servant returned with it, and we com- 
menced a game. We continued to play till near dinner-time, 
and he beat me almost every game. He gammoned me four 
times, and when I proposed that we should quit, he laughed 
very much, and said, “My dear Louise, I have triumphed 
over you at last. You are not half so indifferent as you were 
towards me at Green Haven. Your provoking nonchalance is 
somewhat subdued. I do not think, however, that you stand 
defeat as well as I supposed you would.” — “ I do not under- 
stand,” said I, “ what you are talking about. I admit that 
you can out-play me, still I am not in the least wounded by 
the fact.” — I was then half angry, because Hr. Finlay had 
said what he had about my indifference towards him. I knew 
I did not love him, and thought my heart circumvallated 
against his many seductive fascinations ; but then for him to 
have thought that I would love him, or that he had subdued 
my obstinate resistance to love, was more than I was willing 
to admit. I had not been so much chagrined for years, and 
all for nothing too, but I wished very much to tell Hr. Finlay 
that I was angry with him, for he kept joking me about his 
triumphs, &c., until my dormant energies of temper were 
aroused sure enough. He pushed the table to one side, and 
came and sat close by me. He took my hand, and said, u My 
dear Louise, I hope I have not really offended you.” — I pulled 
my hand away from him, and arose to leave the library ; and, 
as I closed the door after me, I said loudly, “ Fll thank you 
not to call me ‘My dear Louise, again.” — I hastened to my 
chamber, and felt the tears of regret arising in my foolish 
eyes. Then I was more and more provoked at myself for having 
given way to my temper, over which I imagined that I had 
acquired absolute control. And how childish, argued I. I 
have got angry with Hr. Finlay for a mere trifle ; — nothing, 
in fact ; and what a piece of superlative folly I have been 
guilty of. I was almost on the eve of returning to the library, 
and asking pardon of the Hoctor, for his kindness, politeness, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 261 

and preference for me, came into my heart, and I wept afresh 
when I reflected upon my abrupt departure from the library. 
However, I promised myself to apologize to him at the tea- 
table, and resolved that I would behave towards him more 
politely in future. At the hour when tea was announced, I 
was so much ashamed of myself and vexed because I had 
shown my temper, that I deliberated whether I would go down 
to supper or not. I disliked meeting Dr. Finlay, and wanted 
to meet him too. Still, I was conjecturing how he would 
approach me, after I had slammed the library door with such 
violence, and left him alone in that old granary of science 
and literature. I arose, however, and went down. I looked, 
of course, for Dr. Finlay first, and there he stood by his chair 
waiting for me, and as I entered the room, I observed that he 
glanced at me over his glasses in that quizzical manner which 
he had so often done at Green Haven. He seemed to be 
in a fine humor, greatly to my relief. Still I saw he wished 
to laugh at me, for his eyes fairly danced when I looked at 
him, and very soon he said, pleasantly, “ How are you now, 
Louise ? I discover that a heavy snow fell during our stay 
in the library. If to-morrow morning is not too ungenial, will 
you go a-sleighing with us ?” — “ With pleasure,” said I ; and 
after breakfast the ensuing morning, Miss Matilda, Lizette, 
Ada, and I, accompanied him. We were driven all over the 
fields and meadows, then down the road, which led to Eocky 
Chapel, and for several miles beyond that sacred old edifice. 
Coming back, we drove near a public burying-ground, one not 
belonging to Eocky Chapel, and I saw Dr. Finlay rise from 
his seat by Miss Matilda, and cast a sad look at the moss- 
covered stones that stood up through the snow. As he sat 
down, in rather a low voice, he said to Miss Matilda, “At 
whose direction was that monument placed there ?” — “ The 
Pitkins’ family had it done, I believe,” said she. “ It bears 
the name of Wallace Pitkins,” said I; “I have frequently 
been to the 1 old kirkyard/ and to the public burying-ground 


262 


LOUISE ELTON j 


too. I have noticed the name on the marble column. Was 
he a friend to you, Doctor ?” inquired I. — “ He was an 
acquaintance of mine,” said Dr. Finlay, drily. — “ I thought, 
perhaps,” continued I, “ that he was an intimate friend, as 
you seemed to cast such mournful looks at the stone over his 
ashes.” — “ Only an acquaintance,” said the Doctor. If I had 
then known, or had ever heard of the relationship which 
once existed between Dr. Finlay and Wallace Pitkins, I should 
not have mentioned his name. Have patience, dear reader, and 
you shall presently hear of Wallace Pitkins. 

When we got home again to the Hall, I asked Miss Matilda, 
“ if I could see Mr. Manville ; that I understood he was then 
able to sit up ?” — “ Certainly, Miss Elton,” replied she, “ and 
I have no doubt but that my dear old brother will be pleased 
to see you. I hear him inquire of Lizette or Ada every day, 
— * How is Miss Elton V ” — “ Arthur says, he thinks his father 
low-spirited, and is greatly grieved to see how he has broken 
and faded !” — “ Come !” said Miss Matilda, u we will go up 
now.” I made sure that I was to see Ivanora, for I thought 
she was there early in the morning, but there was no such 
woman in Mr. Manville’s chamber ; no sick babe, and not a 
trace of either of them. I was seated beside the bed of the 
aged valetudinarian, sponging his wrinkled hands with warm 
vinegar, when Mrs. Newland entered the chamber, and sat 
down at the fire-place to converse with Miss Matilda. I heard 
her say, “ Brother Charles says, he will send for Carrie, just as 
soon as he gets a little stronger ; what a pity Arthur did not 
make her come home. The letter Madame Dirotte addressed 
to Brother Charles, has worried him no little. She states that 
Carrie has not recited a lesson to her for six months, and that 
Carrie induced her to believe that Brother Charles had directed 
her to abandon her French lessons altogether. She has written 
to Arthur’s wife also (so Arthur told me), that Miss Ashmore 
was acting very indiscreetly with Harry Upperton; you are 
aware sister, that Upperton and Roff leave their plantations 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


268 


every winter, and stay during that season in the city of ? 

They are there now, and Carrie is attending parties, halls, and 
theatres. Everybody thinks that Carrie is in love with Up- 
perton, and they are talking about it ; but I know that he has 
no idea of addressing her. I know when a man’s intentions 
are honest, just as well as he does. I cautioned our niece 
about that dashing, handsome, musical fellow, for he’s a flirt ; 
and Carrie has been so long without a mother, and has remained 
in that gay city so long, that I really do not know what we are 
to do with her when she comes to the Hall. How will she live 
secluded here behind the mountains ? I regret that she has in- 
herited none of our sister’s resignation and force of character; 
she is altogether Ashmore in her organization ; then she is too 
wild, too ungovernable, too fond of fine dressing, entirely, to be a 
country lady ; I am afraid she will be miserable here, for where 
will she find gentlemen enough to admire her ? She will not 
accommodate herself to the mountain swains, I know. Have 
you looked over those bills Arthur brought from the mer- 
chants, sister ?” continued Mrs. Newland ; “ they call for the 
moderate sum,” (ironically said the old aunt) “ of one thousand 
and fifty dollars ! Bless me, what waste, and what a vain girl 
Carrie is ! If her father’s brothers were not so dissipated, I 
should insist on their taking her ; as she cares for nothing but 
society, and that must be of the most fashionable, city charac- 
ter. I care but little for the money she has wasted, compared 
with my anxiety to have her separated from the society of 
Henry Upperton. She loves him, and he may take advantage 
of her weakness. Arthur is too indulgent with her entirely ; 
he should have used more authority with Carrie, or summoned 
sufficient moral courage to talk to her; but he is timorous 
about some things, and is so perfectly devoted to his wife and 
children, that he forgets the outer world.” Shortly after this 
visit to Mr. Manville’s chamber, Dr. Finlay sent Lizette for 
me to come again to the library. I went down, and back- 
gammon was proposed ; but I roundly refused, telling him that 


264 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


I had resolved never to play again. I remained in the library 
conversing with the Doctor, for in his interesting and eloquent 
flights, no one could hear him and leave him unaffected. He 
told me that he was, after awhile going with Dr. Manville into 
my school-room ; that he hoped it would be no intrusion ; that 
Arthur wished to look at some of his old books ; that they had 
not been in that apartment together for a great while, and that 
it used to be their bed-chamber. “The room you occupy, 
Louise, is where my dear, sweet Emily died.” Oh,” said he, 
covering his eyes with his hand, “ how plainly I see her in my 
imagination as I once saw her, when I took her in my arms and 
laid her on the couch in that chamber. I thought she was 
dead. She had received a fright at something and fainted ; 
and poor, darling Lavinia was as much frightened as Emily.” 
— “At what?” said I. — “I may tell you, one of these days,” 
said Dr. Finlay ; for at that moment Arthur Manville came 
into the library, and said, “ I dislike to interrupt your conversa- 
tion with Miss Elton, but suppose we go to my old chamber 
now ? Excuse us a moment, Miss Elton,” continued Arthur, 
and off they went. I then stole softly into my own chamber, ad- 
joining the school-room, which used to be Arthur’s room. I 
wished to hear what they were going to talk about, and as I 
had succeeded once before in eavesdropping, I bent my head 
near the door and listened. Dr. Finlay said, “ Arthur, do you 
recollect this crucible ?” holding a small one in his hand, and 
turning it over and over. — “I think I do,” replied the other; 
“’tis the same that you threw at the old Venetian mirror, the 
night on which you received the intelligence of the marriage of 

Madame Augereau.” — “ The very same,” said t)r. Finlay. 

“Well, Walter,” said Arthur, “is not the lady governante 
named Louise?” — “Yes,” replied Dr. Finlay. — “Well, why 
do you not fall in love with her, and marry her ?” asked Arthur. 
— “ I do love her,” returned Dr. Finlay, “ and I have been about 
half crazed ever since I first laid eyes on her. Yes, her name is 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 265 

Louise, — dear, tender, sweet word. I roll it, like a delicious 
morsel, under my tongue.” — Arthur turned towards the Doc- 
tor, and remarked vehemently, “ Walter, are those your senti- 
ments; then why, in the name of common sense, do you 
not make the proper advances to her ? You know whether 
she will suit you or not; and I have, at all times, had the 
greatest inclination to see you happily married of any one in 
the world. Do you not recollect how I used to scold at you 
for your inflexible and provoking indifference towards Louise 
Banthier? Go and be a man, Walter. You have now no 
time to lose. I see, however, that you are a timid fellow yet, 
and still wait for some woman to come and tell you that she 
loves you, wishes to marry you, and that her name is Louise. 
You will fool away a valuable life yet, and sinfully swindle 
some woman out of a good husband. I believed once that the 
marriage of Louise Banthier would be a lesson you would 
not easily forget. Go on; go to courting at once, and be of 
some account.” — Dr. Finlay laughed, and said, “Arthur, I 
would address that woman in a moment ; but I am afraid she 
will discard me, and I would rather be shot than to take a de- 
nial from a woman I love. I know I err, too, in devoting my 
attentions to her, and I know I am a fool for living on the hope 
that she, perhaps, cherishes a secret love for me, and will not 
marry so long as I am single. I confess, also, that this is pre- 
sumption in me, and I know not what to do in Miss Elton’s 
case. I have heard that she declares she will not marry at 
all ; that she has laid out certain schemes which she desires to 
accomplish, when she retires as an old maid. I am afraid she is 
cold and indifferent ; and God save me from a cold-hearted, 
self-important woman ! Why, Arthur, just look at Colonel 
Manville ; he is in torment every moment of his existence ; that 
wife of his is a perfect fiend; and I am disgusted with the 
whole of womankind, when I seriously reflect that, perhaps, she 
is a sample of the generality of the sex. I then thank God 
that I am a single man, and resolve never to marry. What do 

23 


266 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


you suppose I would do with a wife who would interfere with 
my business, and scold me for bleeding my patient because she 
thought she ought to be blistered, and if I administered 
calomel in pills for her to declare that it should have been 
given in powders ? I often think of all this ; for I have been 
as anxious to be a married man as you ever were; but I 
confess that I am unpractised in the emotions of a woman’s 
heart; then the changes in life are often so strange and 
sudden, that it is impossible for me to come to any definite 
conclusion. Suppose I address Miss Elton (for I love her), 
and we are married. At first everything goes on swimmingly. 
After the honeymoon fulls, and she then looks round at the 
sober realities of every-day life, the novelty begins to mil- 
dew, and she becomes sullen and cross; what do you think 
will become of me ?” — “ The risk is the same on her part,” 
said Arthur ; u she may reason just as you do. Comparatively, 
you are both strangers to each other, I know, and that you 
never would relapse, I also know ; for I see exactly what kind 
of a husband you would make ; but, unfortunately, the women 
cannot know you as I do. I regret, too, Walter, that you do 
not know as much of a woman’s heart as I know. Now, you 
ought to know that when a woman says no, she generally means 
yes ; for in love matters there is, comparatively speaking, little 
or no truth in any declaration they make. Half of the time 
when you are wooing, and they almost dying to marry you, 
they assume a cold and indifferent air, and charge you with 
flattery, many a time, when that very charge is but an invita- 
tion for you to flatter on. They discover that your pride is, 
perhaps, a little wounded at being called a flatterer, — they call 
you by that name in order to excite you ; your eloquence is 
warmed by the charge, your energies are invigorated, and the 
coquettish creature listens in transport and triumph at the fresh 
and beautiful epithets that you lavish upon her, in endeavoring 
to persuade her that you are not a flatterer, but are speaking 
the words of ‘ truth and soberness.’ ” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


267 


u You are a good anatomist, Walter; you know all about the 
dissection of dead bodies ; you are a good physiologist, also, 
for you can investigate the functions of living bodies, and 
you know all about the aorta, the ventricles, the valves, 
the arteries, the vena cava, of the heart, but of that emo- 
tion, sympathy, which old Dr. Blandel used to say ran 
along the chordae tendinae, and settled in the columnae and 
massae carneae, you know nothing.* However, Walter, I am 
only jesting with you about Blandel, for you recollect that 
when the old fellow was a little 1 shot in the neck/ when 
lecturing the class, he was addicted to the construction of 
theories which wanted circumstantial evidence for their ground- 
work ; still, I shall never forget his eccentricity, and his curious 
and truly laughable remarks when he was a little tipsy, espe- 
cially if he had a human heart to lecture upon. I tell you, 
Walter Finlay, that I do not believe there is a woman on the 
earth between fifteen years of age and four times fifteen, who 
would not marry ; so go on, Walter, and court Miss Louise, for 
if I am any judge of such matters — and you often say to me 
that I am — I will declare that I think her a fine woman, and one 

* As this conversation, every word, in substance, actually took place 
between the two gentlemen whom the authoress has named Walter 
Finlay and Arthur Manville, it may not be out of place to explain 
what “ Dr. Blandel,” as he is fictitiously called, meant by emotion 
and sympathy, running along the chordae tendinae, and settling in the 
columnae and massae carneae. This gentleman told the writer of Louise 
Elton, once, “ that he believed there was in nature an invisible 
fibre which grew from the heart of persons in love, — that like the 
tendril of the grape-vine it grew, until it clasped the heart of the 
object it was reaching after; that the tenderest emotion of the heart 
then ran along this invisible chordae tendinae, like the silvering runs 
along wire, and settled in the columnae and massae carneae, as the 
galvanizing matter fixes itself over anything which is intended to be 
gilded.” “Quite a laughable definition of love,” methinks I hear 
somebody say, “ or rather of the manner in which it takes effect.” 
Poor Dr. Blandel, like all the world, had his faults, however, and 
often indulged too freely in what he called “ grape-tonic.” 


268 


LOUISE ELTON; 


after your own ideal. Promise me that you will, for I know 
there is a deep fountain of pure, crystal-like water in that wo- 
man’s heart, and all you have to do is to borrow the power of the 
lapwing, and search for it, and if you ever make the discovery, 
too, my dear fellow, recollect that it will be like the affection 
Tom Moore has written of, when he said, — 

“ Fresh as the fountain under ground, 

When first ’tis by the lapwing found.” 

“You are exceedingly eloquent and persuasive, Arthur/’ 
said Dr. Finlay, “ and as Agrippa said unto Paul, ‘ Almost 
thou persuadest me to be’ — instead of ‘ a Christian’ — a married 
man; and now, as you have looked over your books, and 
the chemical apparatus, &c., let us go and see how the old 
man is.”* They left the room, closing the door after them, 
and I stole away below stairs to Miss Matilda’s room, where I 
was quietly sitting when Drs. Finlay and Manville passed 
through the passage and out of the door, then directly I saw 
them enter the viny avenue through which I so often saw the 
respective members of the family go. They bowed politely 
and smiled very bewitchingly as they were passiug the window, 
for I had placed myself where I knew they would see me, to 
ward off any suspicion with them of my being in my chamber, 
and listening to their conversation. I knew they were going 
to “ the cottage,” as Dr. Finlay had called the home of Ivanora, 
when I heard him give directions to the servant who went for 
the backgammon box. — In a few days, Mr. Manville came 
below stairs, and was driven out occasionally in his carriage. 
We were all truly thankful when he resumed his seat at the 
table, for we had missed him so much that it seemed as if 
everything was wrong during his confinement, and no music 
had vibrated on my nerves, for years, so sweet as the tones of 
Mr. Manville’s voice when he spoke to Arthur. lie would 
say a thousand times a day, “ Arthur, my son,” for he almost 

* Mr. Charles Manville. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 269 

idolized him, and the son proved by his affectionate manners 
that he had been trained from his earliest youth to reverence 
and love his father, to pay him deference, and at all times to 
show to him that the filial love and obedience he had learned 
when a boy, had made that indelible impression upon him 
which is generally made upon children trained according to 
the code of Solomon, “ in the way they should go.” After 
remaining three weeks, the two doctors bid adieu to this 
ancient Hall, — Dr. Finlay returning to Green Haven, and Dr. 
Manville to Magnoliona,* his seat in the South. 


CHAPTER X L II. 

I WAS indeed thankful to Dr. Finlay, for not mentioning 
the subject of love or matrimony to me. I respected and 
esteemed him, but had no idea of loving, and rejoiced that 
no one was able to make me break the resolution I had formed 
of not marrying. After the restoration of Mr. Manville's 
health, he sent for Miss Ashmore to come home. She was 
put in the care of a gentleman, who left her at the hotel 
in the little town, seven miles from Manville Hall. As soon 
as Mr. Manville was informed of the safe arrival of his 
niece, he took Mrs. Newland in his carriage, and went for 
her. They took with them two of the largest-sized trunks, 
lashed on the rack of the carriage, and the next day Mr. 
Manville sent his two-horse wagon to town, and they hauled 
out five other trunks, all pretty large too, crammed with 
Carrie's finery. The room adjoining my school-room had 

* The gentleman whom the writer of Louise Elton calls Arthur 
Manville, improved a magnificent villa, many years ago, in one of the 
States of the South, which he called in honor of Professor Magnol, 
of Vermont — who gave name to the elegant magnolia tree — and his 
wife, whose Christian name was Iona. The two names combined 
form Magnoliona. 


23 * 


270 


LOUISE ELTON; 


been furnished for more than a year for her, but she so often 
wrote to her uncle to permit her to remain another session at 
school, that the indulgent old gentleman had not made her 
leave the academy at the time he intended, when I first went 
to Manville Hall. Mr. Manville now furnished Miss Ashmore 
with a chambermaid, named Rosetta, and told her that her 
piano and guitar were in the parlor, and invited her to go into 
his library, and read about two hours every day. Miss Ash- 
more was in the supper-room the first time I met her at Man- 
ville Hall. When I walked into the room with Lizette and 
Ada, Miss Matilda remarked, “I believe that you are ac- 
quainted with Miss Elton, Carrie ?” — “ I ! ” ejaculated Miss 
Ashmore ; “ indeed I never seen but one governess in my life, and 
that was that old Morris creature that Uncle James Manville 
once employed, but I was barely introduced to her.” — She 
drawled the word barely out, with as much precision as if she 
made large calculations upon the long sound she gave it. — “I 
thought you were introduced, perhaps, to Miss Elton, at your 
Cousin Kate’s wedding,” said Miss Matilda, who then intro- 
duced us. Carrie only curved her thin, bluish lips scornfully, 
and, as gracefully as she knew how, moved her head to one 
side. Her organ of approbativeness was so full, that it 
inclined her head to one side, then, all of a sudden self-esteem 
being more commanding, pulled the little cranium in place, 
declaring that her sharp, vain, red head was in an undignified 
position. Her hair was short, and clustered all over her head 
in kinky red curls. She had lost it in a spell of fever she had 
had. She talked incessantly before her uncle came down to 
supper, told Mrs. Newland and Miss Matilda of all the balls, 
parties, theatres, circuses, operas, beaux, and belles that she 
heard of, and all that she had seen in two years. She told 
what Miss Adams wore to the grand ball at New Orleans on 
the 8th of January, and what Miss Merchant purchased to 
wear on the 22d of February ; of the costly bouquet that Mr. 
Roff gave her ; that he sent to England for it, and every bud 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 271 

and flower in it came out of the celebrated conservatory at 
Chatworth, the magnificent seat of the Duke of Devonshire. 
She told what Mr. Linton said of the delicacy and symmetry 
of her feet and ankles, and spoke eloquently of billets, music, 
troubadours, and serenades by moonlight ; but what murdered 
all was her ungrammatical language. Said she, addressing 
herself to Mrs. Newland, u I wish I could have saw Mr. Wil- 
liams before I left. He sent me word that he had a letter 
for you. I waited a day for him, and I seen he was not 
coming, so I sloped.” — Said I to myself, “ I do not think you 
have told an untruth in declaring that you have never seen 
but one governess, and you have but barely looked into an 
English grammar.” Miss Ashmore was dressed in a heavily- 
embroidered green merino dress, an elegant watch and chain, 
a whole set of jewels, of diamonds and rubies, also ribbons and 
white kid gloves. “ Have you no French wines here ?” said 
she to Miss Matilda, after Mr. Manville had retired to his 
chamber (for in his presence she took care not to run on with 
her ill-digested nonsense). — “ Plenty,” replied her aunt, “ in 
the cellar .” — “ Oh ! I rejoice then ; for I expect to feed on 
wine and music all the time, especially when my beaux comes. 
Oh ! Aunt Matilda, you do not know how many compliments 
the gentlemen pay my playing on the piano ; then I speak 
French with the greatest eccentricity.”* Madame Ducroix 
said that Monsieur Barnotte was not so great a — a — a — , dear 
me, I have spoke French so long that our vulgar English is 
almost forgot. I can’t recollect that English word, but I want 
to tell you about Monsieur Barnotte. Then,” said she, vehe- 
mently clasping her kid-gloved hands, and trying to roll up 
her little, ugly, pale blue eyes sentimentally, “ Monsieur 
Barnotte, il est bon pianiste , il a un bon doigli et une execution 
tris brillianie .” — Then turning to me, she said, “ 11 fait un 
temps superbe aujourd’hui.” — I replied, 11 Oui } il fait le plus 
beau temps du monde.” 

Miss Carrie was not a little astonished, for I knew when she 
* Accuracy. 


272 


LOUISE ELTON j 


first began to nmrder u our brother tongue/’ what she was 
attempting to do. She had been pretending to study the 
French language, and had learned by rote a few disconnected 
sentences from u Collet’s Progressive French Dialogues and 
Phrases.” I was soon satisfied that I could speak as correctly 
in that elegant and polite idiom as the overbearing Miss Ash- 
more. I thought, however, that she looked a little crest-fallen 
when I replied to her in the very next line, in the conversation 
between u Peter and John.” Poor barbarised language, thought 
I. u 0 murdered ! butchered brother !” A language that is 
hackled and riddled by those who wish to make a display of 
what they have not got, nor never can have till all of its native 
fragrance is drunk up, or carried off by an atmosphere of non- 
sense. I could think of nothing but those people who wish to 
appear grand, but who wear imitations of diamonds and other 
gems set in galvanized cases. After tea, I arose,, with Lizette and 
Ada, to go to our chamber, and as we left the supper-room, 
Miss Carrie gave her sharp head another toss, and I heard her 
say, u La tournure d'une grisette” — 11 What ?” said Mrs. 
Newland, to Miss Ashmore . — u La tournure dJune grisette” 
continued Carrie. “I mean, dear aunt, that the governess 
looks like a chambermaid.” After awhile, Lizette and Ada 
retired, and I went into the school-room to write letters to my 
mother and brothers. Very soon I heard Miss Ashmore in 
her room. It really was a strange noise to hear her about the 
house, for everything up to her arrival was so quiet. She had 
not been there long, however, before she rung her bell for 
Rosetta. When the girl came into the room, I heard Miss 
Ashmore say, “ Sit down here, Rosetta ; I am going to lecture 
you. I don’t intend for you to be called Rosetta. I intend 
for you to have a more technical name ; technology is all the 
fashion now ; you must either be called Rosalind or Rosettee. 
Whoever heard of a fashionable lady, like your Miss Carrie, 
permitting her waiting-maid to be called Rosetta ? No, in- 
deed ; you are now a fashionable grisette. Do you know what 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


273 


I mean by gri-set-te ?” — “ No, Miss Carrie, I do not,” replied 
Rosetta; “I know that Master Macdonald has a settee in his 
office. “ La ! Rosalind,” said Carrie, “how stupid you are; 
it means chambermaid; don’t you know that you are my 
chambermaid, and that I am a French lady, and abominate 
such vulgar English words as chambermaid ? Now, whenever 
I call you my grisette, I mean my chambermaid ; and do you 
always tell everybody how stylish your Miss Carrie is, and 
that she speaks according to the rules of technology.” Just 
as Carrie had concluded this speech, Miss Matilda entered her 
room, and I heard her in a very solemn tone say, “ Carrie, my 
dear child, from what your aunt Newland has told me, I am 
afraid that you have behaved very indecorously to Miss Elton, 
after I left the tea-table. We all love and respect Miss Elton 
very much, Carrie, and I am sure, there is nothing you could 
do that would so readily offend your Uncle Charles as to treat 
Miss Elton as sister says you have done to-night. I am glad 
that brother was not at the table. You will have to be parti- 
cular, and not do anything that is calculated to wound your 
uncle’s feelings. You are aware of his sufferings on account 
of Ivanora and poor Louis; so now, my dear Carrie, be parti- 
cular, and do nothing that will harass him. He is with 
Ivanora now, who has been ill ever since Arthur and Dr. Fin- 
lay were here. The sight of Arthur has revived so many 
things in her mind, that she has suffered greatly ever since he 
was here. You must never speak of Ivanora to Miss Elton ; 
never mention her in her presence. Miss Elton has been here 
now nearly three years, and has not seen Ivanora; she, 
therefore, knows nothing about her or any of her sorrows ; nor 
has she ever interrogated one of the servants about the Hall 
relative to her ; if she ever has heard of her, or anything about 
her, it has been accidental. I admire Miss Elton for her in- 
tegrity, for I always dislike to see people interrogating negroes. 

I would rather find out a matter myself, fifty times, by my 
own exertion, than to hear family secrets from a servant. I do 


274 


LOUISE ELTON j 


not wish you to go on talking French either, as you did at tea. 
You must recollect that brother spent several years in Paris, 
and as he is an accomplished French scholar, he, will detect 
your errors ; and I am sure Miss Elton will see directly that 
you do not understand the language well enough to enable you 
to converse handsomely.” 

“ Well, now,” said Carrie, “how very curious you all are, 
and about that governess too. I ! I ! Carrie Ashmore ! here 
at Manville Hall, a fair buzzard’s roost, listening to a lecture 
from your aunt about that creature. Nice doings, indeed, for 
a young lady just from a fashionable boarding-school, to be put 
under such restraint about a great fat governess ! and just to 
think of such a thing, as Uncle Charles being offended at my 
candor! I had reasons to believe that I am a favorite with 
Uncle Manville. He knows that ma gave me to him, and that 
he promised me education, company, and fortune ; now you 
talk like Ivanora is his favorite, and speak as if he likes Miss 
Elton as well as he likes me. If I had done what Ivanora has 
to give uncle trouble, I would not be hidden yonder, behind 
the mountains ; I would have committed suicide long ago.” — 
“ Silence, Carrie, I command you to be silent,” said Miss Ma- 
tilda, most vehemently; “ and if you ever say one word, in the 
hearing of Brother Charles, against Ivanora, or whisper one 
syllable disrespectfully of her, I now tell you Carrie, Ashmore, 
that you will be forced to leave here; that you will be sent 
away to your father’s relations, and without one cent of my 
brother’s fortune, and the doors of Manville Hall will be shut 
against you. Speak not of Ivanora; I caution you not to do 
it, for she is nearer to your Uncle Manville than yourself. 
Her mother was his only daughter, and the sorrow that she 
has been groaning under so long, has rendered her an object 
dearer to brother than every other thing in existence. You 
are not worth a cent, Carrie, unless brother should think proper 
to bestow something upon you. He certainly intends doing 
so, but if you speak so rashly, and you appear so unreasonable 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


275 


to him as you have done to me, you will offend him, and he will 
then not be so willing to provide for you. You have mistaken 
rashness for candor, therefore learn to discriminate, and through 
life be particular and not do anything to hurt the feelings of 
any one, who is recognised and esteemed by your friends.” — 
“ Why,” said Carrie, no longer able to bear her aunt’s reproof, 
u do you all wish to convince me that I have not the right to ex- 
press my opinion ? Indeed you are every one sadly mistaken if 
you think that Carrie Ashmore is afraid to converse. I have 
been complimented too often upon my collusory phrases, my 
commanding detonations of voice, my indomitable profundity, 
and my bombulatory circumvolutions, to be afraid of my opi- 
nions, or anybody’s opinions, and especially of that ugly, 
obscuratory governess. I recollect now, I did see her at Kate 
Percy’s wedding ; her brother and herself were ranging about 
like two stray cats, and stumbled in at Green Haven, at the 
wedding. I know too, how droll she looked ; and she managed to 
get herself introduced to my kingly beau, Harry Upperton. I 
saw him conversing with her, and make fun of her when he said 
she was intelligent. I knew he was jesting, for he asked me 
to allow him to introduce her brother to me. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 
squalled the mirthful Carrie, “ how I laugh every time I think 
of the boots he had on at Kate’s wedding, for when Harry 
Upperton asked him to waltz, he excused himself by saying 
they w r ere too heavy, and that he was not in waltzing costume. 
Now, the idea of a clodhopper waltzing ! who ever heard of 
such a thing ! and there was Hr. Finlay gallanting that go- 
verness about the parlors at Green Haven, and the Doctor a 
fashionable, gay gentleman too, and to cap the climax, it is 
reported that the elegant Walter Finlay has fallen in love with 
her, and that she has flirted with him. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A man of 
Dr. Finlay’s requirements to be flirted with by a country go- 
verness, whose father, I have heard, was a poor man, and a 
Methodist circus* rider. Now, Aunt Matilda, do you in reality 
* Circuit rider was wliat she aimed at. 


276 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


think that Lizette and Ada have improved one cent’s worth 
under the instruction of Miss Elton ?” 

“ Carrie, you have spoken so foolishly, and said so many 
rash and vain things, and ruffled my feelings so much, that 
really I cannot enter into a social conversation with you, unless 
you will promise me that you will do better, and act with more 
discretion. There is no doubt, however, relative to the improve- 
ment of Lizette and Ada. Your uncles are perfectly satisfied 
with what she has done ; Brother James was here last fall, and 
was last delighted with Miss Elton, and I saw him shed many tears 
as they recited long and difficult lessons ; for Miss Elton exa- 
mined them closely before their father, Brother Charles, and 
Parson Macdonald. Lizette and Ada, also, are devoted to her, 
and you must treat Miss Elton politely, Carrie ; promise me that 
you will ?” said Miss Matilda. — “ You speak, aunt,” said the 
stubborn girl, “ as if I have no politeness. I wish you could 
know what has been said of my refinement of manners. You 
are all so different off here, and out of the world, I may say, 
to people in cities. How many city ladies do you suppose 
would condescend to listen to as many long lectures as I have, 
about that ugly governess and Ivanora? Uncle, and Aunt 
Emily, lectured me, the other day as we came out here, about 
Ivanora, and her private troubles, telling me never to mention 
her name. Uncle need not have given himself all that trouble, 
for I do not care one fig for Ivanora. I know that you all 
have made such a pet of her ; and she has been spoiled and 
fondled with so much, that I do not wonder at her having so 
many misfortunes. It is a judgment upon her. You would 
make me believe that Uncle Charles has made a favorite of 
everybody but myself ; however, I am going to advise Uncle 
Charles to send Ivanora to a convent; there’s where she 
should be ; she has disgraced the family anyhow, and that is 
more than any of you can say of Carrie Ashmore. I am Uncle 
Charles Manville’s adopted daughter; my mother was his 
favorite sister, and my opinion is, that this governess had bet- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


277 


ter go to her home, if she has got any, and stay there ; and I 
am going to tell uncle so, too.” — “If you wish to please your 
Uncle, Carrie,” said Mites Matilda, in a mortified tone of voice, 
“ you must be obedient to the rules of his house, and let me 
entreat you, never to speak to him of Ivanora, as you have to 
me. A granddaughter, whose misfortunes and sorrows are 
anything like Ivanora’ s, is dearer to the heart of an aged grand- 
father, than a niece can ever be. Your uncle, if he were to 
hear you, as I have to-night, would call you a mocking-bird. 
Do not attempt to give him your opinion, upon any subject, 
unasked. You know his principles, you know his feelings, 
sympathies, &c., &c. You also know the obedience and affec- 
tion of Ivanora, towards all of us ; and I can tell you, that when 
I have heard my brother speak of your coming to Manville 
Hall, he has expressed a warm desire for you to be here, and 
believes that you will be exactly the kind of girl, in his house, 
that Emily and Lavinia used to be.” — “ I expect to be run 
crazy,” returned Carrie. u I wish to retire, aunt; I missed my 
siesta, to-day, for the first time for ten months. I am in the 
habit of reclining every afternoon for about two hours. I then 
rise and dress for evening calls. I am going to keep up the 
same custom here, for I suppose I shall, of course, have at least 
two or three calls from town every evening.” She arose and 
rung for Rosetta, and as Miss Matilda bade her a cool-sound- 
ing “ good night, Carrie,” I heard her slip out of her fine rattling 
silk, and shortly afterwards spring upon her bed. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

At breakfast the next morning, Miss Ashmore was fast 
asleep; it was impossible for her to rise and dress so early 
as we breakfasted at Manville Hall. Before we had finished 
down came Rosetta, to Miss Matilda, and said, “ Miss Carrie 
says, her breakfast is to be sent to her room, that she does not 

24 


278 


LOUISE ELTON; 


intend to come down.” — “ Is she sick ?” inquired Mr. Manville. 
“No sir,” replied Rosetta. — “Yery well/' said Mr. Manville; 
“ tell her to dress herself, and come down ; that this is my house, 
and my rule is, that all the ladies about it shall eat with me. 
Tell her that I am like Bonaparte, when he declared that 
1 society was nothing, unless ladies are present, and that women 
are necessary to civilize and soften the other sex/ Tell her 
to come to the table, for Fll have no breakfasts carried above 
stairs, unless she is too much indisposed to come down.” 

I thought, perhaps, that Miss Matilda had mentioned the 
conversation she had with her niece overnight, to Mr. Man- 
ville; for he seemed disturbed at breakfast, and there was 
something in the tone of his voice that indicated a ruffled 
temper, and different, too, from anything I had ever heard from 
him since I had known him. As I returned to my room, I 
met Miss Ashmore, descending the stairs in her elegant 
cashmere morning negligee, trimmed with ermine, and her 
hair in papers ; she had not undone her curls. She looked 
very sullen, indeed, rolled her eyes scornfully at me ; as I said 
“ good morning, Miss Ashmore,” and without speaking, she 
flirted off into the breakfast-room, where I had left Mr. Manville, 
Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland, who, no doubt, read the by- 
laws of Manville Hall to her in a tone that she would not be 
likely to forget. In about two hours, she came back and said 
to Rosalinda (as she called Rosetta), “ I discover there is no 
fire in the parlor ; who ever heard of such a place ? G-o and 
ask your Miss Matilda or your Miss Emily, or old Mrs. Peebles, 
the housekeeper, who is to order my fires in the parlor? I be- 
lieve that they every one are trying to insult me at the start. 
Wouldn’t it look well for several gentlemen to come to Man- 
ville Hall this afternoon, and to have to be invited into that 
miserable dining-room? It looks just like the dining-rooms 
the people used to eat in before the flood. I won’t stand such 
cruel treatment; so go immediately, Rosalinda, and order a 
fire, and tell Aunt Matilda that the parlor is the oldest place 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 279 

on earth; there’s my piano ruining in that damp corner; and 
how in the name of saints, does Uncle Charles expect me to 
practise my music lessons without a fire ?” After a while the 
servant returned to inform “ Miss Carrie” that the parlor was 
ready, and away she went below stairs. She played and suDg, 
and sung and played ; every now and then, she would leave 
the piano, and survey herself in one of those ancient Venetian 
mirrors which hung on the walls of the parlor at Manville 
Hall ; then she would raise the heavy silk curtains from the 
window that looked out towards the main road, to see if any 
beaux were coming. I had taken Lizette and Ada below stairs, 
into the library, to listen to the performance of their cousin. 
The day, however, was too cloudy and rainy for the gentlemen 
of the town to drive seven miles over a rocky road to call on 
Miss Ashmore, especially when there were so many sensible 
and interesting girls close by them. After a while she gave it 
up, and came dancing into the library. She was dressed in a 
rich pink-colored silk dress, that was elegantly flounced, with 
a profusion of curls, jewels, and embroidered satin boots. She 
unceremoniously sat down by me, and said, “ How long have 
you been at this miserable, desolate old Hall ?” “ G-oing on 

three years,” I replied. — “Is it possible that it has been so 
long since I saw you at Green Haven ?” — “ Yes,” said I. “ I 
left Green Haven in December. Your cousin Kate was mar- 
ried in November, but I did not come to Manville Hall till the 
March after you saw me at Green Haven. You were to have 
come home the next spring, your uncle informed me, but as 
you requested him to permit you to remain at your boarding- 
school, he consented.”— “ Oh, yes !” said she, “ I did not finish 
my education so soon as uncle expected; then I remained about 
twelve months after I graduated.”— “ Did you get a diploma, 
Miss Ashmore ?” said I.— “ Oh, yes, indeed !” was her response. 
I asked her if she would allow me to look at it. “ Oh !” said 
she, enthusiastically, I did not care a fig for it. I gave it to 
some gentlemen, one night, at an oyster frolic, to light their 


280 


LOUISE ELTON; 


cigars with.” — “Do you,” said I, “allow gentlemen to smoke 
in your presence ? My brothers have told me that it is a breach 
of etiquette for gentlemen, at parties, especially, to smoke or 
chew in the presence of ladies.” I had heard her denominate 
my brother a “ clodhopper,” overnight, and I determined to say 
something about him, for I had pride enough in the matter; 
and although I knew that Alva would not consider such a weak- 
minded creature his equal, yet I intended to show her that her- 
self and her beaux were no better than other people. “ Oh,” 
said she, “we girls did not see them smoke, of course, as we 
are too modest to look at a beau if he has a cigar in his mouth ; 
so they lit their cigars after they left the parlor ; but,” con- 
tinued she, “ never mind the cigars and diploma ; do tell me 
how you have managed to breathe here for so long. I know 
that I shall die with the blues, for I plainly see death before 
me. Is there no society in the neighborhood ? and have you 
not attracted any gentlemen to the Hall ? or how do you all 
do, to stand this old, gloomy place ? I wonder that Lizette has 
not had a beau or two ; she is plenty old enough. I was en- 
gaged to be married at her age, but I was just flirting with the 
fellow.” 

Lizette laughed very heartily and said, “ Cousin Carrie, 
pa and Uncle Doctor, would be angry with me if I should hint 
such a thing as a beau, and if you please, cousin, do not men- 
tion beaux, where Uncle Charles is. I should be so much 
ashamed if you should. Please, Cousin Carrie, do not mention 
my name in conjunction with that of a beau.” — “ What strange 
creatures you all are!” said Miss Ashmore; “you have been 
buried alive so long, that you know no more of the fashion and 

excitement of a city, than the nuns in the convent at ; 

but do tell me, Miss Elton, what is it that you all do ? what do 
you see in Manville Hall, and the mountains, and the rivef 
over yonder, that is so pretty? and what does Uncle Charles 
see to keep him off on the plantation all day?” — “ Your good 
uncle,” said I, “ is happy because he is satisfied ; he attends to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 281 

his farm, to his servants, and his fine stock; he visits the 

town of , occasionally, and once in awhile he visits his 

neighbors, and they come to see him. Sometimes elderly 
gentlemen come here from a distance, and he seems overjoyed 
at welcoming them to his house ; he spends a good deal of time 
with Parson Macdonald, when he comes home from his preach- 
ing tour. I often see him in the library here reading, and 
many a time he is playfully walking about the beautiful old 
yard and garden, with Lizette and Ada; then he goes to * 
Rocky Chapel almost every Sabbath to hear Parson Macdonald 
preach.” — “La! Miss Elton,” spoke Miss Carrie, “you will 
run me crazy, telling me that Uncle Manville has come so low 
in the scale of religion, as to he going to Rocky Chapel to 
worship God. I stayed at this abominable place two weeks, 

when I was on my way to , to school. Cousin Arthur 

Manville was here, for he carried me south. Aunt Newland’s 
husband was alive, then, and they all lived near each other in 
the South ; well, I was thinking about the trip before me, all 
the time, and as there was so much company here, of course, 

I thought nothing of the horrors of the place. I wish I could 
have known something more about it, for uncle would not 
then have got me to come here if he had paid me ten dollars 
a mile. Old Rocky Chapel I” continued she. “ I was there 
once, and like to have been killed ; my horse got frightened at 
a mountaineer, who was the greatest sight I ever saw : he had 
on a pair of curtain-calico pantaloons and a straw hat, with a 
bow of red ribbon on one side of it ; and as I walked to the 
door I got my long riding-skirt torn on those low bushes about 
the churchyard and my blue kid boots got dreadfully soiled ; 
and those miserable old pews frightened me ; — then, as I walked 
into the church, the foolish country people turned and stared 
at me, as if the elephant had come in to hear old Macdonald 
preach. But do go on, Miss Elton, and tell me how you all do 
to live here.” — “ About half of the time,” resumed I, “your 
Aunt Newland is abed, as her health is delicate, but when she 

24 * 


282 


LOUISE ELTON; 


is well enough, she knits, sews, cuts out work for the seam- 
stresses, attends to the green-house, and many a time she as- 
sists in nursing the servants when they are ill. Mrs. Peebles 
and your Aunt Matilda have a kind of partnership business 
with the fowls and the dairy : they send a great many things 
to market from the garden, dairy, and poultry-yard. Miss 
Matilda attends to the cooking, to the beds and bedding about 
the Hall, and every other article of furniture. She often 
* assists Aunt Dorcas with the clothing belonging to Lizette 
and Ada. We all attend divine service *at Bocky Chapel, and 
sometimes the ladies go to town, and I accompany them. I 
teach Lizette and Ada, from Monday morning till Friday 
evening. Sometimes, I sew all day, and on Saturdays, if I 
have nothing to sew, I read or write. When the weather is 
pleasant, I range up and down the brooks that murmur around 
the mountains and hills. I have whiled away many an hour 
gathering flowers, and pressing them in my herbarium, and in 
this way I have become more familiar with the science of 
botany. I often remain in my school-room experimenting 
with the philosophical and chemical apparatus ; then I write 
letters to my mother and brothers, and read newspapers and 
u Godey’s Lady’s Book.” 

“In the summer-time, I often traverse those deep glens 
yonder, by moonlight, with Lizette and Ada, accompanied by 
Aunt Dorcas ; then I contemplate the glittering floods of light 
that are poured upon the earth from the bright moon and stars. 
I look at the diamondlike vesicles of dew that hang like gems 
upon the emerald strings of grass ; for I would rather gaze upon 
the sweet dew-drops that shine upon the verdant foliage, than 
all the diamonds which have been collected in the mines 
of Lumbulpour and Golconda, and set in the diadems that 
glitter upon the brow of vanity. I often unclose my window 
at daybreak, and watch the goddess Aurora ride triumphantly 
over night and sleep. I almost blind myself looking at the 
gorgeous waves of the sun, as his flood of light is rolled over 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


283 


the tops of the wild, steep mountains; then I take a snowy 
towel and a small bowl, and go down to the old spring ; I 
roam about there, sit on the moss-covered rocks, that look as 
smooth as velvet; indeed, no velvet, how green soever it may 
be, is either richer or more beautiful than that soft, verdant 
cover which grows over those huge stones at the spring. I 
stand sometimes for half an hour under that hanging cliff 
yonder. I love the rugged sides of the mountains, for the 
air is so sweet and bracing by the river’s side. There’s the 
yew and ivy that grow so exuberantly on the opposite side of 
the river, and there are the lofty trees overshading the uneven 
banks. I ramble along the margin of the river, which is so 
beautifully welted with wild honeysuckles, and other flowering 
vines. All around me the laurel is in elegant white bloom, and 
at the ferry, I am often charmed by the wild song of the boat- 
man, who is perchance rowing some traveller across the deep, 
clear stream. I shall never forget the morning I went to the 
ferry, when I heard the oarsman singing ‘Lord Tillin' s 
Daughter.’ He had been called at an early hour to come to 
the ferry, and row across the river two fugitive lovers, who 
had escaped overnight, and who were going to some Gretna 
Green, to seal their vows of love and constancy. It seemed not 
a very appropriate time for the song either, for the morning 
was calm, the sky blue, and the waters of the beautiful river 
went murmuring sweetly along ; but still the boatman sung 
out so clearly, and his tones were so rich, that I listened to 
him in rapture for some moments; then I turned my face to- 
wards the Hall again, and when I reached the spring where I 
performed my facial ablutions, I took up my towel and bowl, 
and sat down 

“ ‘ Upon the fragrant bank of limpid rill, 

Where sleeps the violet in the dewy shade, 

Where opening wild-flowers balmy sweets distil, 

And the wild musk-rose sweeps along the glade.’ ” 

“And that is the way you spend your time here, is it ?” said 


284 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


Carrie in a mournful tone. u I wonder,” continued she, u if 
Uncle Manvilledias the presumption to think that I am going 
on in that way? No, indeed, I am not ! for I must have gay, 
fashionable society. . Nice doings, indeed, for me to spend so 
much time in a city acquiring a city education, and then to be 
forced to bury my youth and acquirements at this old haunted 
castle ! I will open this Hall with a big dance, some of these 
days, now mind if I do not. All that you have said, Miss El- 
ton, relative to what amuses you, uncle, and aunts, can never 
interest me ; I would not give one of those elegant bouquets 
that I used to have sent me from Harry Upperton’s ma’s hot- 
house, for everything you all have seen in the hills here for 
nearly three years. If I could go to Switzerland, I could love 
the mountains, for there, everybody says, is some sense in hills 
and mountains; but what are those plain, rough-looking things 
over there to me ? A mere nothing. Never mind ! Harry Up- 
perton, in company with a party of fashionable ladies and 
gentlemen, has promised to come to Manville Hall next spring, 
then won’t I be happy once more ! If you could only see 
Harry now, Miss Elton, he is so much improved, and such a 
dear, darling fellow ; and then, he has the sweetest greyhound 
that you ever laid your eyes upon ; and what do you think its 
name is ? Why, Carrie Ashmore ! Harry named her after me, 
and the dear dog got so fond of me, it actually took to follow- 
ing me to school. I used to pass Mrs. Upperton’s going to the 
academy, and the greyhound would spring out and run after 
me ; it seemed to know me from every other girl at school. Now 
was not that strange ? just to think of Harry’s dog taking such 
a liking to me ! I really thought that Harry told the dog to 
love me. You know Harry is called my beau ? Well, I ex- 
pect we will marry, because everything rhymes so well : Harry 
will marry Miss Carrie, this was the old song amongst us girls 

in the city of . Harry’s mother is so wealthy, too; she 

owns the most magnificent palace in ; has a splendid gar- 

den, yard, and green-house ; also, an elegant coach and four 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND nEARD. 


285 


horses, with servants in livery — then she allows Harry to give 
so many splendid parties ; for he spends his winters with his 
ma. What, oh, what shall I do for that dear circle of so- 
ciety which used to make me think that I was in glory !” 

“Here is a book/’ said I, handing her “Ethelinde, or the 
Recluse of the Lake,” by that favorite authoress, Mrs. Char- 
lotte Smith ; “ suppose you turn your attention to literature, 
and think less of fashion and society. You will, no doubt, be 
a great deal happier.” I really felt distressed to see any one 
so miserable ; for notwithstanding her unprincipled disposition, 
I was grieved to see any one unhappy at Manville Hall, con- 
sequently I would have done anything to reconcile her. “That 
wretched old thing !” replied she ; “ Uncle Manville has had it 
in the old library for years before I was born. It is too old ; 
it is moth-eaten, and not fashionable now.” — “Very well,” 
said I, “ Miss Ashmore, your uncle has a number of later 
works ;” but she only answered me by dancing out of the 
library, and the next thing, I heard her thumping again on 
the piano. 


CHAPTER XL IV. 

In about a month after Miss Ashmore came to Manville 
Hall, two young ladies, Misses Thompson, came out from town 
and spent a day with her; and as all three of them seemed 
restless, Miss Matilda sent for a young Mr. Collins, a plain, 
clever young man, who lived not far from the Hall, to come 
over and spend the day with the young ladies. As they were 
scarce of beaux, and as Miss Matilda knew very well that Collins 
was as respectable as any of the party, consequently she seemed 
willing to interest Carrie, and make her home agreeable to her 
if she could. After dinner, Carrie almost asked the Misses 
Thompson to invite her to go home with them. She expressed 
her dissatisfaction at being, as she called it, “ buried alive,” 


286 


LOUISE ELTON; 


raised many objections to her lonely situation amongst the 
mountains, and often sighed for the gay pleasures that she 
believed her town acquaintances enjoyed. As I was familiar 
with the circumstances of the Thompson family, I could have 
told Miss Carrie “that all was not gold which glittered.” 
They resided in the town, and were able to furnish their parlor 
in good style. Their visiters were chiefly persons about the 
place, who only made fashionable calls, and left directly. One 
of the girls dressed fine every morning, in order to be ready to 
go into the parlor when any one called, but no one was per- 
mitted to look behind the curtain ; and, indeed, no one had 
any business looking there, for they were truly honest and 
industrious people, but had a little too much vanity, and 
dreaded the idea of their visiters seeing “ ma” in the kitchen 
cooking, and of their getting a sight of “ Sister Eppie” at her 
work washing dishes ; and it was also kept a profound secret 
that “ Sister Maria” took in sewing. I knew that Misses 
Molly and Mag did not wish Carrie Ashmore to go home with 
them; but Carrie was so unhappy, and so stupid, that she 
could not take a hint at all, for Mag Thompson remarked at 
one time, whilst they Were talking about Carrie’s going home 
with them, that her ma was not very well, and that their ser- 
vant was quite ill. It made no difference, however, as Carrie 
longed so ardently for the society of a town or city. “ Any- 
where on earth,” as she was heard to exclaim, “ but this 
abominable old Hall.” After dinner, Carrie and Rosetta were 
busy, for at least one hour, packing things in her largest trunk, 
and she carried her fine, pearl work-box and her gold thimble. 
I believe everybody about the house was glad that she had 
gone, for she kept every one uneasy all the time ; after her 
departure, it seemed as if the former days, when we were so 
happy, had returned. However, “Terrestrial happiness is 
of short continuance,” said Doctor Sam Johnson, in one of his 
most beautiful allegories, for while I was enjoying the absence 
of Miss Carrie, a courier was sent to her uncle, to request him 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


287 


to send his carriage for her the next day. She only spent one 
week with the Misses Thompson, instead of a month, for she 
said that they were too poor to entertain her, and that instead 
of having a fine, large spring-mattrass to herself, she was packed 
on the same bed with Moll and Mag ; then, as the mornings 
were remarkably cool, and as there was no fire-place in the 
room, she was compelled to shiver in front of an old cracked 
looking-glass, before she could go to breakfast, and that she 
had to dress herself, and never missed any one so much in her 
life as she did Rosalinda, for she had to pull off her shoes 
and stockings herself. “ I listened/’ said Carrie, “ for a sound 
of those delightful serenades of which Moll and Mag so often 
boasted, but was disturbed, long after midnight, by the bang- 
ing and creaking of an old garret door.” 

I thought that, peradventure, after awhile, Miss, you may 
learn that Manville Hall is not so desperate a home, after all 
the abuse you have poured upon it. I had no doubt but that 
she suffered a good deal from the cold. She had been a great 
deal in a southern climate, and had seen and felt nothing but 
sunshine and flowers for the past four years ; and she was in 
figure scarcely more than a shadow. She was uncommonly 
lean and bony, and had grown in stature since I first saw her 
at Green Haven ; for when she came to Manville Hall she mea- 
sured five feet and nine inches in height, and then only weighed 
one hundred and ten pounds. I thought I never had seen any 
one fonder of flattery than Miss Ashmore ; for it seemed as if 
she required flattery to keep her alive. The day after she re- 
turned from town, she came to my room, and as this was the 
first time she had ventured within my door since she came to 
the Hall, I was quite surprised to see her come thus sociably 
where “the ugly governess” was, as she had denominated me; 
but she was lonesome, and wanted to hear my opinion of her 
taste in dress. She tapped at my door, and walked in when I 
invited her. When she seated herself, she said, “ Miss Elton, 
the girls at the academy used to say that Carrie Ashmore dressed 


288 


LOUISE ELTON; 


with more taste than any lady who had ever promenaded those 
streets. Do tell me if you think so too?” I could not tell 
her a story, nor did I think it right to flatter her. I was, how- 
ever, perhaps too candid with her ; for I told her promptly that 
she might dress to suit the taste of some people, and that no 
two persons entertained opinions exactly alike, but that she by 
no means pleased me.” — “Not like my style of dressing, when 
everybody in that grand city said I was tasty, and the finest- 
looking woman on the earth !” ejaculated she. — “Not if all the 
world should say so,” said I, “ I could not agree with them.” 
— “Well,” continued she, “do tell me your objection to my 
dress, Miss Elton.” — Said I, “ Miss Ashmore, according to 
my taste, you arrange colors badly. You wear yellow, pink, 
and blue, when you should never wear a pink dress with dark 
yellow trimmings; nor should you wear a sky-blue dress with 
red or pink trimmings, as you so often do. You also wear scarlet 
ribbon around your neck, and pale blue ribbon on your hair. 
I often notice, too, that you have on a pale pink dress, and 
blood-red ribbons about your waist and neck. Now, according 
to my taste, no woman looks well, or is tastily dressed, if she 
wears anything pink or red, and more especially if she has such 
fiery red hair as you have. Your dresses should always be 
black, brown, blue, white, purple, or green ; for nothing could 
be more becoming to you than dark green ; and when you were 
dressed the other day in that grass-green silk, with your white 
satin cravat, spotted with straw color, I said then to myself, 
this is the only time that I have ever seen Miss Ashmore 
tastily dressed. You also should have capes like your dresses, 
or have them cut close to your throat ; for your neck is too long 
entirely, and your shoulders too bony to bear exposure. You 
should dress in white a great deal in warm weather, and wear 
either a green, lilac, or blue colored crape bonnet, or a straw 
hat tastily ornamented, and a thin black lace veil ; then you 
would look well ; but, whatever you wear, never mix pink and 
blue, or wear anything red about your neck or hair.” The 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


289 


only response Miss Carrie made, was a “ deep-drawn sigh,” 
then she looked steadfastly at me, and said, “ I wish I was just 
your size, as I abominate being so tall, especially as I am so 
delicate. How much do you weigh, Miss Elton ?” — I told her 
one hundred and twenty pounds.— 1 “ And how tall are you ?” 
said she. — “Just five feet four inches,” I replied. — “Well,” 
continued she, “ how is it that you wear such deep pink trim- 
mings, and so often have on a scarlet or crimson cravat ?” — 
“ Because,” said I, “ my hair and eyes, my complexion in 
general, is so much darker than yours ; besides, you have never 
seen me wear pink and blue at the same time ; blue and white 
I wear, and I wear pink and green, and with a black dress I 
wear white satin or watered ribbon around my neck, also pink, 
blue, yellow, lilac, and all the fancy colors, with a black or 
brown dress; but have you ever seen me with a sky-blue 
dress trimmed with scarlet or pink?” Shortly after this 
conversation, a servant came to inform Miss Carrie that Mr. 
Collins was in the parlor, and that her Aunt Matilda had sent 
for her to come down and entertain him. She left my room, 
and I was soon advised of her arrival in the parlor ; for I heard 
her playing some elegant piece on her guitar. 


CHAPTER XL V. 

The weather was once again delightful, and I concluded to 
exercise more than I had ever done in the springtime. Every 
day, after school was over, when I had no duties of my own to 
perform, I assisted Mrs. Newland about the garden and seeds. 
She was very busy, having the dead leaves and sticks raked 
into piles from the borders and walks of the garden. The 
gardener was dressing the asparagus beds, while Lizette, Ada, 
and I helped Mrs. Newland to untie and assort her nume- 
rous bundles of seeds. She had small beds prepared to sow 
her bachelor’s button, sweet William, and pink seeds. She 

25 


290 


LOUISE ELTON; 


also had the purple flowering bean, the daisy, and china-aster 
of every variety ; then we sowed touch-me-not, painter’s brush, 
larkspur, sweet pea, hollyhock, and every variety of marigold. 
The tender green buds of the lily of the valley were peeping 
through the ground, the tulips also, were alive, and had begun 
to come up ; then there were double white hyacinths, and also, 
purple, blue, pink, and flesh-colored ones, growing thickly, in 
great square beds of loam. The golden yellow crocus was 
there too — my little garden calendar — but its glossy rich hue, 
which had dazzled my eyes, was then almost gone. The pur- 
ple, pink, and white phlox were growing beautifully, and the 
harebells, near the white and purple violet beds, were coming 
on. The lilies, roses, myrtles, ivy, sweet vernal grass, thyme, 
tansy, sage, marjoram, calamus, lilac, the alanthus, the va- 
rieties of honeysuckle, the snow-ball, the virgin’s bower, the 
glycene, the mock-orange, the calacanthus, and the jasmine, all 
from their life-giving appearance, foreshadowed that a few 
genial showers, from the clouds of April, would make Man- 
ville Hall again a sweet, desirable place, especially to the 
lovers of nature and retirement. It was rather late, one eve- 
ning, after promenading alone in the garden, that I was going 
along an avenue leading to the graves, which were deeply 
shaded by the cypress, yew, cedar, holly, and pine trees. 
This was then the greenest spot about the garden, and as there 
was a mournful pleasure in its appearance, I often sought its 
shades to meditate, and was going thither for that purpose, 
when I saw a tall, delicate lady emerge from the opposite hedge 
from me, glide off beneath the dense cluster of yew and holly, 
and soon pass out of sight. As she had retreated, I, sup- 
posing she would not return, continued to approach the 
graves. As soon as I entered the enclosure, I observed an 
old man sitting on one of the headstones. As it was rather 
late, and the long slender branches of one of the largest and 
oldest weeping willows I ever saw, were gently swaying around 
him, I had to take a second look, before I was satisfied that it 
was Mr. Manville. “ I will not interrupt your meditations,” 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


291 


said I, as I was preparing to depart, for I knew that Mr. Man- 
ville had come to that hallowed spot with Ivanora, to weep with 
her over the ivy and myrtle, which had mantled so thickly the 
graves of their dear departed friends, and that she had 
departed as I approached the shades. I had often visited the 
graves during the “ season of blossoms,” and had frequently 
found a beautiful garland of white roses on all of the graves 
but one, and on that one I always' noticed that the chaplet was 
woven of dark red roses. I put things together in this way : 
I supposed that the wreaths of white roses were placed on the 
graves of those departed friends who had died a natural death, 
and that the red garland signified the untimely and bloody death 
of the son of Mr. Manville, who, I had heard, was murdered. 
The old gentleman noticed that I seemed embarrassed, when 
he arose from the gravestone, for he said to me, “ Is that you, 
Miss Louise ? My children are buried here, and I often come 
to commune with their spirits under these dark shades.” — “ I 
am sorry to intrude upon your solemn reflections,” said I to 
Mr. Manville ; “ but I often visit this spot myself, and,” con- 
tinued I, “is not your wife also buried beneath these aged 
trees?” — “No, my dear,” replied he, “would to God she had 
found a grave in my domain ; but she has been swallowed by 
the wide ocean, and I know not the place where her poor body 
sleeps. She was in ill health for several years, and her phy- 
sician advised a sea voyage for her restoration. I married her 
in Scotland many years ago ; her relations in that country were 
all anxious too that she should return, and bring with her our 
children, and we had but three. My daughter, Elana, was 
then married, and she could not accompany her mother ; as our 
youngest son was a delicate boy and a great pet with me, I 
proposed to my wife to go home, and carry our eldest son Ar- 
thur with her. I accompanied them to Norfolk, Virginia, 
where they embarked, and after I bade farewell to my wife, 
on the morning of her departure, I saw her no more. She, how- 
ever, arrived safely in Scotland, and spent the autumn and 
winter there. Her family rejoiced to see her, and her father 


292 


LOUISE ELTON; 


often wept over our son Arthur, who was named after him. 
He wanted to keep him with him, and begged his mother to 
allow him to stay, but she knew my attachment for my child, 
consequently she declined leaving him ; and after considerable 
improvement in her health, she bade adieu, for ever, to her long, 
loved home in Scotland, and re-embarked for America. As 
they were crossing the ocean, my wife was seen at dinner one 
day, but has not been heard of since. Arthur was a young 
lad of just fifteen years of age; he attended his mother at din- 
ner, and as he did not see her during the afternoon he sup- 
posed that she had gone to sleep, as she was accustomed to do, 
after dining, and he spent the afternoon with his companions, 
thinking that his mother was quietly sleeping. At supper he 
went for her, and she could not be found; no one recollected 
seeing her since dinner-time, nor could any one give any ac- 
count of her. The shades of night had already curtained the 
ocean, a few solitary stars gemmed the dark sky above, and 
the mad waves washed the ship. What could any one do ? 
Was it worth while to retrace the ocean in search of her ? Oh 
no ! for it would have been madness and folly to have gone 
back. The great fabric was at length moored at Norfolk, and 
I stood eager to catch in these withered arms my wife and son, 
when Arthur came bending towards me, while the hot tears 
flowed over his cheeks, and embraced me, saying, 1 Oh ! my 
ever dear father, we have lost ma in the ocean, and not one of 
us knew when or how she fell overboard/ You may imagine 
my emotions., Miss Louise, for I cannot express them to you. 
All that I could ever learn was, the supposition of the captain 
and passengers, who concluded that she must have fallen into 
the sea shortly after dinner, when all supposed she was sleep- 
ing away the afternoon in the ship, but it was more probable 
that then she was food for the shark, or some great sea mon- 
ster that was following the ship, and perhaps gasping for some- 
thing to eat.” I could not avoid weeping as the old man 
related this sad story; and as the evening dew was already 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 293 

shining on the dark trees which hung over the low graves, I 
proposed to Mr. Manville to go with me to the Hall. I won- 
dered not, as I mused on the relation of my aged friend, that 
he was often sad, and that he shed many tears, and often ut- 
tered so many groans. 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

Mr. Collins had now become a regular visiter at Manville 
Hall, as well as Captain Mays, a fine, dashing gentleman from 
town. Carrie Ashmore was evidently pleased with the Captain, 
and as Mr. Collins often came to the Hall and met Captain 
Mays there, it gave Carrie a good deal of concern, for she dis- 
liked Collins because he was a plain, home-bred farmer. He, 
however, had more common sense, as the saying is, than Mays 
had had in a lifetime ; hut Mays bore the name of (< Captain,” 
and he never called upon any lady who was not reputed 
wealthy, for he was a fortune-hunter decidedly, and one of those 
persons who would lower themselves in the scale of principle to 
marry a rich woman, and care no more about her than he 
would for the greatest stranger who passes his dwelling. Cap- 
tain Mays dressed finely, and was driven to Manville Hall in a 
barouche drawn by two dun ponies, elegantly nicked; he 
also had an eighty-dollar diamond breastpin, and generally sat 
in the parlor with lilac-colored kid gloves on his great coarse 
hands. He believed that Miss Ashmore would be wealthy at 
the death of Mr. Manville, and this was sufficient, for he at 
once then became a beau, an admirer, and lover. Carrie's 
good old uncle intended settling a nice little fortune upon her ; 
still he did not design to make her wealthy. -He had provided 
liberally for Miss Matilda, and as Mrs. Newland was quite 
rich, she did not need any more property. Miss Ashmore 
also had a married sister, who was very poor, and who had 
a family of nine children, and “ Uncle Charles” intended 
to give them something too. He had enriched his son Ar- 

25 * 


294 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


thur, who was a wealthy Southern planter, and as Ivan ora 
was his granddaughter and greatest favorite of all, I believed 
that she would inherit the most of the old gentleman's estate. 
I had often heard Mr. Manville say that he intended to 
provide well for the females of his family; that his warmest 
sympathy was for them, and that as far as his property 
would go, he intended to relieve that portion of his household 
whom he termed helpless. He would frequently exclaim, 
u Poor, helpless womankind ! what is it the rougher sex should 
not do to facilitate your happiness ? Men have so many more 
advantages than women, they should ever remember them, 
and never tire in promoting their comfort." I had an inex- 
pressible reverence for Mr. Manville, for he was truly a tender- 
hearted man ; I saw that in his disposition there was a union 
of sensibility, benevolence, and piety. There was also a natural 
excellence about him, and all those pure adornments which 
virtue bestows had been successfully cultivated in the heart of 
this gentlemanly old man. Lizette, Ada, and I, had been in- 
terrupted more frequently by Miss Carrie, than we had during 
the whole time previous to her arrival at the Hall. She was 
in the habit of rushing into the school-room, and would many 
a time bring her sewing there, where she would sit for hours, 
asking questions and singing foolish ditties. One bright 
morning she came there when Mr. Collins was in the 
parlor. She had made every excuse that she could think of, 
and many a time sent poor Collins off disappointed and vexed 
at not seeing her. I thought it strange that the man could 
not see that Miss Ashmore avoided him on purpose, for she 
would feign sick headache when she was in perfect health, — 
still, “ love was blind." Reason, however, after awhile regained 
her throne, and the last call that Parmer Collins made at 
Manville Hall, he was convinced of the thorough hypocrisy 
of Miss Ashmore. She was on the front gallery, when he 
alighted at the stile in front of the mansion. Carrie was then 
amusing herself with teasing two snow-white leverets she had 
in a cage, for she often used to stick straws in their ears, and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


295 


poke them with pieces of whalebone. As soon as she saw 
Collins she stepped behind a large oleander tree, which was 
growing in a pot, and had been placed there by the direction 
of Mrs. Newland, but she was too late, for Collins had seen 
her, and she was so much taller than the bush, that she could 
not conceal her ugly red hair, which was even more conspicuous 
than the cluster of blossoms which grew from the stems of the 
flowering shrub. She soon came running into the school-room, 
saying, “ Miss Elton, go down and talk to Collins ; he is a 
plain, poor-folks of a fellow, and different from the society 
that I have associated with; but still he will just suit you, and 
I am tired of him, as he is the greatest bore I ever saw ; you 
can find something to say to him, but for gracious’ sake, don’t 
let him go into the parlor — the dining-room is good enough 
for such a common fellow, and maybe he has sense enough to 
teach him to go home, when the servants go in there to set 
the table for dinner. If he gets into the parlor, I know he 
will sit there and rock himself in the chairs all day, and you 
know what a fool he is about the piano. He’s all the time 
teasing me to play a reel or a cotillion, — things I despise, and 
he hasn’t sense enough to understand Haydn or Mozart. Now 
do go, Miss Elton, for I have not got my parlor trimmings on, 
and you know how queer I feel if I am not elegantly dressed. 
Go on, and tell Aunt Matilda that I am too sick to see com- 
pany to-day.” 

“ You must excuse me, Miss Ashmore,” I replied ; “ I cannot 
leave the girls to go down and entertain your beau. Your 
uncle would not approve of my course, and I do not like this 
thing of making a playhouse of my schoolroom; moreover, 
Lizette is just beginning to review her lessons in botany, and I 
must not neglect her.” — “ Botany ! botany !” said Carrie, with 
a sneer, at Lizette ; “and what good is botany ever to do Lizette ? 
She will go home to Green Haven, next year; reside on the 
plantation with about four hundred negroes, and be tied to her 
stepmother’s chair, carding cotton, knitting stockings, and sew- 


296 


LOUISE ELTON j 


ing coarse stuffs. I learned all such things at my boarding- 
school, but they are nothing but trash. I wasted my time on 
botany and so on, when I ought to have studied Latin and 
G-reek, which my teachers wished me to do; but uncle heard 
that I was engaged to be married to Harry Upperton, and he 
hurried me here to this despicable old Hall.” At the close of 
this speech, Rosetta came, to tell Miss Carrie that her Aunt 
Matilda said that Mr. Collins was in the parlor, and she 
must come directly down stairs, and see him. “I won’t go 
one step,” said she ; u and why did you not tell him that I am 
ill, or from home ? Rosalinda, you have not got one atom of 
sense. Here, take this bouquet, and give it to Collins ; also 
tell him I am ill, with a sick headache ; tell him that this bou- 
quet is full of sweet sentiments, which he may read, and as he 
turns it over and over, he can be as much interested with the 
flowers and leaves, for there’s language in them, as if I w r as 
there ; and it will save me a good deal of trouble, too, for I 
despise to talk to common people anyhow ; so Collins may pass 
on.” As Rosetta left the school-room, with the flowers, Carrie 
danced into her own chamber singing, 

“ Young man, if you’ll take my advice, 

You’ll find it an excellent plan, 

Don’t marry a charming woman, 

If you are a sensible man.” 

And so I thought too, and her stratagem of sending Collins 
the bouquet made me recollect a piece of management I had 
read of, peculiar to a certain people, who had a variety 
of objects to worship, and had consecrated every highway, 
mountain, hill, and stream, to some divinity, to which, the cus- 
tom of the country required every one to address a multitude 
of prayers. As travellers were generally in haste, and could 
not stop long enough to invoke all the divinities, the ruler of the 
country, ordered a machine to be made, having an upright post, 
with an iron plate set in the top. The turning having this plate 
around, upon which was engraven the long ceremonious prayers, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


297 


was deemed equivalent to a repetition of the same. So it was 
with Miss Ashmore’s bouquet. It was full of sentiment and 
poetry, which, if the neglected lover turned in his hand, would 
he equivalent to that long tissue of pretended admiration, love, 
and preference with which she was in the habit of bewildering 
the senses of the innocuous Mr. Collins. How little, thought 
I, does your venerable uncle know of your true character, for 
Miss Carrie generally managed to be in a pleasant humor, 
when “ uncle” was about. She knew his dislike to a woman 
who was “ stormy/’ as he called it; he despised a loud talker, 
and often told Lizette and Ada to avoid everything like the 
notes of parrots and mocking-birds. Miss Ashmore was too 
cautious, however, to allow her uncle to surprise her, when she 
rode her flying horse. But one day I heard Mr. Manville 
interrogating her concerning Captain Mays, when he said, 
“ Carrie, my dear, are you thinking of engaging yourself to 
the Captain ?” — “ I don’t know, uncle,” she replied, “ maybe 
so.” — “I have been trying,” continued Mr. Manville, “to see 
what attraction there is about him. I can still see to read 
large print with my spectacles, but have lost the use of the 
crystalline humor of my eyes, so that I cannot penetrate the 
attractions of this gay Captain. I discover, notwithstanding, 
that you are the object he is seeking at my house.” — “Well, 
uncle,” returned Miss Ashmore, “I have not promised, ex- 
actly, to marry him ; perhaps I may though ; and at your not 
having sufficient eyesight to see the charms of Captain Mays, 
I am not at all surprised ; for whoever heard of one man seeing 
charms about another. God never intended that men should 
love one another. Then Captain Mays is so wealthy, and 
dresses so fine, and is so handsome and good-looking; and it is 
my determination, uncle, to marry a gentleman who dresses 
well ; for now candidly, uncle, I think men are generally the 
ugliest things belonging to the brute creation, and if they are 
not dressed fine all the time, they are abominable enough to 
kill a body. I intend too, to marry a gentleman who is rich 


298 


LOUISE ELTON; 


enough to dress fine every day. Now, just look at this fellow 
Collins, who comes here ; he wears the same suit every time, 
and has his hair perfumed with cinnamon oil. Don't I know 
that he keeps a Sunday suit, dresses in common clothes every 
day at home, and looks like an overseer ? Captain Mays will 
dress fine all the time, and what makes him more interesting 
than all is that he lives in town." 

Mr. Manville said not another word, hut took his hat and 
cane, and left the Hall. Miss Ashmore had told the truth, 
however, for she was like many a woman who places her 
earthly happiness in kid gloves, diamond pins, and fine cloth, 
and therefore such a girl could not be happy with any other 
than the description of husband she had spoken of. All her 
vanities, fancies, &c. &c., had, from the day she first trod 
the fashionable arena, been nursed upon the cushions of 
luxury. Many a time, when contemplating her, I concluded 
that heaven designed that some people should be rich, more 
particularly when they have so little mental wealth, and the 
soil of the mind is entirely too arid to bring forth fruit. 
Where land is fertile, it is common to see the laborer con- 
tented to toil until the harvest, when he makes the hills and 
mountains reverberate his songs of rejoicing at the superabun- 
dance of fruit and grain that he is about to gather. A barren 
mind cannot be made to long for such grain. It must be fed 
by wealth. Its possessor will, as Pope said, “ flutter in bro- 
cade," and go through life with ostensible ease and happiness, 
without having to cast one sheaf into the storehouse of know- 
ledge. The love of money, then, and the luxury which it 
procures, feed the mind of many. They swim in perfumed 
baths. They feast, dance, and then slumber on satin couches. 
What would be wholesome food for Miss Ashmore, would 
destroy another person, and I was aware that I could not 
exist in the fog of excitement that she so ardently loved. 
What curious machines we are, for it seems that what kills 
one cures another. I recollected that I was acquainted with 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


299 


a lady, many years before I resided at Manville Hall, who 
could not rise of a morning till she had drunk half an ounce of 
laudanum. I took twenty drops once, which almost turned 
my brain. Then, is there not something striking in the ana- 
logy between those who are provided with the goods of this 
world, and the riches of intellect ? Miss Ashmore sought her 
pleasure in the society of gay, wild, wealthy people. Her 
mind required such pabulum as cards, music, and dancing. 
She loved flowers, too, but could not take the trouble to leave 
her boudoir to inquire into the beauty and utility of Flora's 
casket. Still, as human nature is so liable to misfortunes, if I 
was permitted to choose one. of the two, I would certainly take 
the wealth of mind in preference to that of purse ; for, suppose 
a woman of the cast of mind of Miss Ashmore became poor, 
her gaudy silks, perhaps, have faded, and they are even ragged 
and old, and her gilded slippers are almost soleless, and her 
glittering gems have been sold to pay her debts. She must 
now retire from the gaze of the world, beyond the mountains, 
and their lofty turrets prevent her from seeing those dazzling 
baubles which bedeck the windows of the city shops. She is 
closeted, and listens no more to the merry song, and no more 
joins the dance. She looks around at her Siberianised condi- 
tion, but sees no beauty in the wild-flower that she crushes 
underneath her feet ! The clear, cool streamlet, which pours 
down the hillside, looks turbid to her, and the song of the 
blithe bird is unmusical! There is neither beauty in the 
green bud that peeps from under the moss-covered stone, nor 
is there any verdure in the myrtle, nor fragrance in the 
Eden of flowers with which nature has brocaded her wild 
parterres ! There is no delightful murmur in the transparent 
cataract of water that weeps over the green hill ! No gems in 
the mountain grotto ; and for her there is no companionship 
with the almost numberless volumes of books that lie in the 
hermitage of meditation. When I have thus reflected, I 
am inclined to conclude that this is the reason the Great 


300 


LOUISE ELTON; 


Parent of nature made some richer in purse than others, and 
some with more wealth of mind than others. It was therefore 
always a satisfaction to me to see weak-minded people have 
a handsome income ; and it seems that the circumstances, too, 
in which we are placed in this life are more equal than we 
generally consider them. The dissatisfactions we so often 
suffer under, are frequently occasioned by the improper use 
we make of our time and means. Some seem to be constituted 
by nature to toil in the classic fields. Others have business 
capacities that the student would never acquire. And how 
unwise it is for some to weep and groan because they are not 
wealthy, and for others to lament that their Creator has not 
enriched the natural soil of their mind to the extent that he 
has others. 

I was altogether inclined to believe with Mr. Manville, for 
he thus had argued the impropriety of attempting to cultivate 
the mind of the African to so high a degree as we cultivate the 
intellect of the Caucasian. “ Mind then, always seems to me,” 
said he, “ to bear a striking analogy to the soil of the earth. In 
some regions of country, vegetation with even a little cultiva- 
tion, will be so exuberant, and will, therefore, yield such a 
superabundance, that the store-house of the garner is not roomy 
enough to hold the harvested grain. This is the way with 
some of our great intellects. There are other places upon the 
earth, though, that are not so fertile, and only yield a medium 
crop ; then are there not many minds that never yield so boun- 
teous a harvest as those who have such a luxuriant intellect ? 
and do we not often traverse , burning deserts, too, likewise 
broken and barren countries, with stony hills and sandy 
plains ? and would not any person of even slight acquaintance 
with the science of geoponics, laugh at us were we to declare 
that either the rugged mountain sides, the sun-scorched plains 
of the desert, or the arid sands of some woodless sea-coast, 
were as susceptible of cultivation, and that by a certain mode 
of operation, could be made as productive, as the richest fields 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 801 

of America, or those abundantly yielding plains which are fat- 
tened by the vivific moisture and the rich slime which are con- 
centrated upon them by the river Nile ? Why do not the in- 
habitants of Norway rear cotton, sugar-cane, pepper, orange- 
trees, figs, tea, and coffee ? “ Oh,” says one, “ the soil and 

climate of Norway is not adapted to such luxuries as these ; 
but only travel to the south of Europe, to Spain, or Italy, and 
on the lovely and fertile plains you will discover many of those 
elegant things which you have vainly looked for in Norway.” 
I was satisfied, also, that Mr. Manville by no means approved 
of the course of his gay niece, nor did I believe he knew 
anything of the infertility of her mind and heart. How fortu- 
nate, however, thought I, that Miss Ashmore has so good a 
friend as old “ Uncle Charles.” I hoped that Captain Mays 
would not waste the comfortable support that the kind-hearted 
uncle designed settling upon her ; for I wondered what would 
become of her if her money should be wasted, and she not be 
able to gratify her gay disposition. “ The best thing,” thought 
Mr. Manville, “is, perhaps, to marry my niece to Captain Mays, 
as he is her choice ;” and, methought I heard the venerable uncle 
say, “ I have seen more of the barrenness of her intellect to-day 
than I have since she came to Manville Hall for a person 
many a time may walk around a field, the growth of which 
looks rank and green. It may, also, appear to be yielding 
something good, and of great utility. The outside observer, 
after gazing upon the long, green leaves growing from luxu- 
riant-looking stems, finds that he cannot tell whether the pro- 
duction is of any utility or not, and that by examining only 
the outer parts he merely gets a glimpse of the green leaves that 
look so fine. He concludes, with the navigator, “ that for one 
to sail around the globe, and be all the time upon the high 
seas, it is a moral impossibility for him to describe the glories 
of the land.” He enters the field, at length, and discovers, 
upon examination, that the soil underneath the vegetation, is 
adapted to the production of nothing but coarse stalks, and 

26 


302 


LOUISE ELTON; 


that the large green leaves are worthless, and he finds amongst 
them, weeds of a. sickly and a noxious character, and is often 
in danger of being stung by the viper that twists its loathsome 
body about the stalks of the plant. I also concluded, that as 
Harry Upperton had neither visited Miss Ashmore, nor written 
to her, that she began to believe that there was little or no 
truth in rhymes, for it appeared as if u Harry” had forgotten 
“ Miss Carrie.” It was evident, notwithstanding, that she 
was in love, now, with the gay Captain, and, from certain in- 
terrogations I heard he had made, I believed that I had 
the right to conclude that he was in love with a portion, at least, 
of the splendid estate of Manville Hall, as well as with the 
brilliant Miss Ashmore. 


CHAPTER XL Y II. 

Another soft delightful May was again breathing its per- 
fumed zephyrs from the green-mantled mountains. When the 
weather was warm, and the days long, we usually ate supper 
early. One evening, after tea, during this sweet month of 
buds, delicate leaves, and fragrant flowers, I took Lizette and 
Ada, and rambled through the peach orchard. Presently I 
entered, at a distant corner, a narrow alley of trellis-work, 
thickly interlaced with vines and flowering bushes. To the 
right and left I noticed the most dense hedges of holly, haw- 
thorn, crab-apple, plum and cherry trees, that I ever saw, and 
beyond the hedges and clumps of taller trees, there was a high 
mountain. Upon its rude sides bloomed the milk-white laurel, 
the box-wood, sassafras, and red-bud, and many an ancient pine 
and cedar raised their deep green arras over the more humble 
anemone, the winter green, and woodbine, which grew on the 
mountain’s breast. All the world seemed to me to be a garden 
of fragrance and blossoms. The evening gales blew softly 
through the glades, and the grass felt warm under our feet ; 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 303 

and as this alley was just wide enough for two persons to walk 
abreast, little Ada ran before us, laughing and playing with 
the buds and vines that interlashed each other all the way 
down this lovely avenue. After a while, Lizette looked very 
intently at me and said, u Miss Louise, where are you going V f 
I replied, “ A little further down this pretty walk, then we will 
turn off and climb the mountain, for I see that the crab-apple 
trees are in delightful blossom, and as it is my favorite flower, 
I will go to the top of the mountain and cull some of it. I 
knew all the time that I had accidentally discovered the laby- 
rinth which wound to the secluded home of Ivanora, and as she 
had become an anchoress, it was not my intention to penetrate 
to her seclusion. I saw that Lizette was uneasy, so I left the 
alley at the first opening I saw, and commenced climbing the 
mountain of flowers. I suppose we walked an hour, and 
like a person climbing the hill of life, we were unconscious 
that we were reaching the summit so soon. We were almost 
on its rocky top before we knew it ; as we had been so enchanted 
with the flowers and fragrant breezes during our ascent. We 
sat down on a stone to rest ourselves, and then I heard such 
plaintive strains of music, which came to my enraptured ears 
from the dark green valley opposite to us, that I almost said, 
an angel is singing in those green bowers, and its melancholy 
voice is gently wafted to me on the perfumed evening 
gales. I bent my head low and continued to listen. I heard 
the sound of an instrument, as well as the flexible voice, but I 
could not tell what it was. I knew it was neither a piano nor a 
guitar; and, at that time, I had never seen a harp. Someone 
was warbling “ The Last Rose of Summer.” The music and 
sentiment of the song, as well as the romance and mystery of 
the one who was breathing such delicate grief in the deep green 
shades beyond the mountain amongst the wild blossoms, in- 
spired me with thoughts of which my pen is inadequate to 
write, for her voice quavered against the tenderest strings of 
my heart. It arose also from the dell of sadness, and came on 


304 


LOUISE ELTON j 


the pinions of ether to my seat on the flowery mountain ! I 
felt, too, as if her tones went onward to the gates of Heaven, 
for I inadvertenly looked to the white clouds, to see if the 
angels were not flying down to earth to mingle their voices with 
the sad melodies from the vale ! It was, indeed, Ivanora ! 
and we were not far from her lonely little cottage. She was 
playing on her harp and singing. I heard her plainly say, as 
she concluded with these exquisite lines of Thomas Moore : 

“ So soon may I follow 

When friendships decay, 

And from Love’s shining circle, 

The gems drop away ! 

When true hearts lie withered, 
jp And fond ones are flown, 

Oh ! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone ?” 

She seemed to me to give the words a touching and tender ex- 
pression, quite different from any one I had ever heard sing 
them, — an expression that came from a saddened heart, be- 
cause its sensibility and sweetness were crushed, and like the 
tl sorrowful flower” of oriental climes, which hangs its head, 
and breathes out its most exquisite fragrance as the shades of 
night steal over its delicate petals. Again she re-tuned her 
harp, and sung these strange, wild words. 

Altho’ the high mountain with blooms is so gay, 

In my heart there’s a sadness, — ’tis wasting away; 

I see rosy clouds blushing soft in the skies, — 

Still, still I’m the victim of sorrowful sighs ! 

Tho’ the flowers their fragrance are wafting to-day, 

From the freshest sweet bowers and hedges of May, 

Yet misfortunes their venomous arrows still dart 

Oh ! who ever bore such a sad bleeding heart ! 

Where ! where are ye, loved ones ! while I am thus low ? 

Do ye not hear my murmurs of mis’ry and woe ? 

Will you meet me in visions once more on the mount ? 

Or at night when I roam by the stars to yon fount? 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


305 


Oh oft then I think my sweet Emily’s near 1 
Or that Julia in musical accents I hear! 

On this bosom, Lavinia, I held you in death ! 

And often I feel there thy last failing breath ! 

Then I think, could ye know how this bosom is torn, 

How saddened this heart, and the gloom I have known, 

You’d grieve with me! weep with me! while I should tell 
Why I thus range, a mourner, within the green dell ! 

I could tell thee of one who’s as false as the flower 
That more often pilfers from Hygeia’s bower, — 

To tinge the pale cheek of the maiden who cries, 

“There ! see that soft bloom on my cheek !” as she dies! 

Yes! false as the corsair who kills as one sleeps! 

Then smiles through the night, as the pale widow weeps 
O’er the cold stiff’ning form of the loved one, whose aim 
Is to tell of the deed, and the bandit’s wild name ! 

Oh ! I’m guilty of forming an idol, I fear ! 

For I said if he’d love me but one transient year 
If he asked it, I’d serve among brigantine slaves ! 

And after I died burn in Tophet’s red waves ! 

And if death was required, I’d willingly call 
For morphine, and dream on my funeral pall ! 

Then oh ! while all nature’s so green and so glad, 

Can any one ask of me, why I’m thus sad ? 

After she concluded these strange lines, I thought that I 
should like to know what they meant. I yearned to behold 
the unfortunate creature, for as she breathed out her sorrowful 
lines, it seemed as if her heart was heaving within her bosom, 
and that the flames of grief, ay, almost madness, were burning 
within it ; like the volcano, which bursts after awhile, being 
unable to rage any longer within the bosom of the mountain. 
I kept repeating the line I had heard 

“Yes ! false as the corsair who kills as one sleeps!” 

Again, the contemptuous expression of Doctor Finlay, in Mr. 
Manville’s chamber, the night I heard the mysterious child 

26 * 


306 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


scream, while I was looking into the room (stealthily too), 
came to me, for I heard him ask Parson Macdonald if Ivanora 
ever heard of that fellow now ? and upon the Parson's replying 
in the negative, I heard Doctor Finlay exclaim “ Villainous 
villainous I" At this moment, I arose to depart, and said to 
Lizette, “ Who is it that sings so sweetly below us?" She 
looked quickly at me and replied, “It is cousin." I said no 
more, and we resumed our walk towards the Hall. When we 
got into the yard, I made a curve around the old mansion, in 
order to get into the front yard, for, the evening was so fra- 
grant, I could not leave the flowers and the green turf. Lizette 
and Ada, likewise followed me, and after we roamed along 
the narrow gravelled paths, we opened the front door of the 
Hall and went in. It really seemed to be an evening of dis- 
covery, for, just as we entered the front door, we met Mr. 
Manville coming out of the library with one of the most beau- 
tiful children in his arms I had ever seen. He seemed a little 
embarrassed, at tirst, but when he saw that I looked so intently 
at the child, he put him on the floor. He was a sweet, blue- 
eyed, rosy-checked fellow, with long, yellowish curls, cluster- 
ing over his round, pretty head. He had on a blue gingham 
slip, a white linen apron, and was barefooted ; he danced glee- 
fully over the faded flowers of the ancient carpet, and then 
sprung, laughingly into Lizette’s arms. I stood still, for I 
knew not what to say. I knew, however, that this was Ivanora’s 
child, and I could not speak. Directly, however, Mr. Man- 
ville said, “Miss Louise, isn’t he a pretty boy?" — “Beauti- 
ful," I replied; then I asked him whose child he was? “ He 
is my granddaughter’s little boy; so come here, Louis," said 
he, “ and let Miss Louise look at you ?’’ The child ran to the 
old man, who took him in his arms and then said, “ Kiss the 
lady, Louis, and tell Lizette and Ada good-bye, you must go 
home now." I kissed his sweet pink lips, and as the grand- 
father hurried out of the front door with him, I hastened to my 
chamber, to meditate upon the adventures and discoveries of 
this delicious evening in May. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


.307 


CHAPTER XL V II I. 

It was a remarkable fact, that although Mr. Mauville was 
so aged and burdened with flesh, yet he attended most assidu- 
ously to the duties of his plantation. He might have been 
denominated an adept in the theory and practice of geoponics. 
He also took more exercise than any elderly gentleman I ever saw. 
I thought that he endeavored to keep his mind actively en- 
gaged, in order to counteract the sorrows which arose during 
his moments of meditation. I often listened to his melancholy 
groans, when the days were so rainy that he could not leave 
the Hall. He would often bow his snowy head upon the top 
of his walking-stick, — and sigh, as if some great matter was 
agitating him. One day, as this lovely month of May was 
dying out, Miss Matilda and Carrie Ashmore had gone to 
town, leaving Mrs. Newland in bed with one of her sick 
spells, and not able to leave her room. Parson Macdonald 
had left the Hall, a few days before, to visit a distant church, 
and I was in the school-room with Lizette and Ada. The little 
girls, had just seated themselves at their writing desks, when I 
heard such a wild shriek, that I sprang instantly to my feet, 
and ran down stairs. As I ran, frightened at such an unusual 
sound, within those peaceful old walls, I heard the scream 
again, and some one saying, 

“ 0 God ! where are you all ! What shall I do l” Again 
that agonized shriek was heard; and as I ran into the dining- 
room, I was met by a beautiful, delicate, and pale woman, who 
fell on her knees, and cried, “ My poor, dear grandfather has 
a fit of apoplexy, and there is no one to bleed him. What shall I 
do ? Oh ! oh ! where is Uncle Macdonald V ’ — “ Arise,” said 
I, “ immediately ; no time is to be lost. Run to the spot where 
your grandfather lies. Lead the way. Be in haste, and I will 
follow !” The pretty, angelic creature instantly obeyed me. 
She then ran along the path through the peach orchard, and 


308 


LOUISE ELTON; 


down that narrow alley, where Lizette, Ada, and I, had, about 
two weeks before, taken the walk. The lady ran on, hawever; 
and as the servants were amazed, several of them ran after us. 
Lizette and Ada I had directed not to come, but to stay with 
their Aunt Newland; they obeyed me; and presently I was 
shown into the apartment of an ancient stone cottage. Ivanora, 
for it was she who was my guide, ran in, and fell from exhaustion. 
There was a woman in the room, standing over Mr. Manville, 
who was prostrate on the floor ; he had fallen there, and the 
woman was weeping, and chafing his temples with camphor. 
She said to me, u Miss, bleeding will save him.” He was 
then foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were wide open, but 
looked as if they were fixed in their sockets. I could not feel 
his pulse beat at all ; for, in fact, he seemed to have lost all 
sensation whatever. His face was flushed, notwithstanding, 
and it was almost of a livid hue, and his finger-nails had a 
bluish appearance; still he was warm. Gentle reader, this 
affair happened before steel pens came into use. I was then a 
school teacher, and I taught Lizette and Ada the use of the 
“ gray goose quill,” consequently, I had to keep constantly by 
me a sharp penknife. I had one in my hand When Ivanora’ s 
first scream vibrated upon my nerves, for I had just mended 
pens for Lizette and Ada, and set them to writing in their 
copybooks. I told the affrighted woman to put down the cam- 
phor and give me a string. She tore off the tape from her 
apron, and handed it to me ; and while she elevated his head, 
I tied the string around his aged arm, made one of the servants, 
who had run into the house, raise it from the cottage floor, 
and as I found that his veins were full, I wetted the one I 
intended to pierce, then I split it with the keen, fine blade of 
my penknife, and to the joy and transport of the poor, trem- 
bling Ivanora, and the woman at his head, out spirted the in- 
carnadine stream. I felt a little frightened at turning phle- 
botomist so suddenly ; but I saw no time was to be lost. I 
therefore intended to take about one quart of blood from him, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 309 

and then stanch it ; hut so very plethoric was Mr. Manville, 
that as the quart cup filled, I attempted to stop the current, 
hut it poured out so freely that I could not. I began to fear 
that he might then bleed to death, and what to do I could not , 
tell. I bent over the sufferer, however, and held the orifice 
between my finger and thumb till I was actually pained by 
leaning over him. I untied the string, and put ice to his arm ) 
but before I could stop the bleeding, he had lost at least half a 
gallon of blood. After a few moments, the owner of the cottage 
came home. He had been out hunting, and the affrighted 
servants had run till they found him at a neighbor’s house 
about two miles off. He said we had done exactly right, and 
relieved us by his assurances that Mr. Manville’s pulse had re- 
turned. I put my ear close to his lips, and I found that he 
could breathe, for I heard a low, soft sound. They put him to 
bed, put mustard on his feet and legs up to his knees, and also 
from his fingers’ points up to his elbows. At was now evident 
that he was better, for he had closed his eyes himself, and his 
skin felt soft and a little moist. “ How is Ivanora ?” said the 
huntsman, looking eagerly at his wife. — “ She bore the shock 
tolerably well,” said the woman, “ till the bleeding commenced, 
and then she fainted. You know how she sickens at the sight 
of blood ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the hunter, “no wonder either.” — The 
Doctor was now sent for, and I went into the adjoining room 
where Ivanora had been put to bed. She was recovering from 
her swoon, and after she acquired a little strength she raised 
herself on the bed, put her arms around my neck and wept. 
She said she was so frightened, and became so nervous, that 
she could not assist me at all, and, u Oh !” continued she, “ does 
my beloved grandfather live ! Shall I ever hear the tones of 
his dear voice again ?” “ Oh, yes,” I told her, and begged her 

to be comforted ; but she was in the deepest distress, and rose 
to go and gaze on the face that she so much loved. She bent 
her head and kissed his aged lips, and laid her pale cheek 


310 


LOUISE ELTON; 


against his forehead. She came weeping to me, and said, 
“ There lies the dearest friend I have upon this earth. He 
never has forsaken me ; many a time when the angry waves of 
sorrow and affliction have threatened to overwhelm me, he has 
come mid rescued me when I was in the act of perishing ! 
Ay ! when I was in the whirl of the deep and frightful Mael- 
stroom, those aged hands have taken hold of me and saved me; 
he has soothed and comforted me when I thought I was for- 
saken, and ought to have been despised by himself, if no one 
else. What shall I, what can I, say to you, you dear minis- 
tering angel, for what you have done for me, and my poor dear 
grandfather ! You are surely one of those seraphs of tender- 
ness and mercy, sent from Heaven to relieve the sufferers of 
this cold world.” — “Be tranquil,” said I; “your grandparent 
is better, and I have hopes that he will recover ; moreover, I 
have done no more than my duty ; if he died, I should also 
he deprived of one of the dearest of friends. If bleeding him 
will save his valued life, I shall be more than paid, and oh ! 
how shall I rejoice to hear the tones of his affectionate voice 
once more !” Mr. Manville lay ill at the cottage about three 
weeks. When he was sufficiently recovered to be removed to 
the Hall, they put a bed for him in a large old-fashioned dear- 
born. He was brought home one Saturday, and the next day 
we all spent in fasting and prayer for his recovery, and for the 
many blessings that Providence had bestowed upon us. The 
front windows and doors of the Hall were closed, and all the 
family collected in Mr. Manville's chamber. No sound was 
heard for nine hours, save the voice of Parson Macdonald, who 
was for a long time engaged in devout prayer. We felt so 
grateful that our beloved parent was spared, and that he would 
probably get well was a thought which made our hearts 
swell with gratitude to Grod, and I felt sometimes, during the 
slow and solemn prayer offered by Parson Macdonald, like 
shouting and making the empyrean arch to ring with gladsome 
praise ! During his confinement to his chamber, Ivanora was 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


311 


with him constantly. It was she who continued to weep and 
watch over the careworn man, with untiring tenderness and 
affection. We had become acquainted, and many a time she 
would come to me and say, “ Miss Elton, come with me into 
grandfather’s room ; you know not how much he loves you, 
and he tells me every hour to try and make you sensible of his 
gratitude to you for your attention to him.” — Notwithstanding 
Ivanora’s deep-seated melancholy, and her rigid love of seclu- 
sion, I felt that I could love her. There was a something in 
the actions of the creature that fascinated me. She seemed to 
woo me with that unstudied affection, politeness, and gentle- 
ness which I had seldom or never observed in any other woman. 
There was a soft, pensive enchantment about her. I often 
dreamed of her, and when in her society I felt loth to leave 
her; bedtime came too soon when I was with her, and the 
days seemed to glide away like the gentle clouds of April. 
Time, thought I, has charms about its wings, that steal away 
these fragrant and lovely moments ; and although she never 
smiled in my presence, yet she did not make me gloomy. 
I experienced a deep interest in her, though her fault, I 
supposed, was an unpardonable one; nevertheless, the man- 
ners, the looks, and the language of the woman almost made 
me forget that she might, at some unguarded moment, have 
forgotten to array herself in the costume of virtue, and that 
she had, unfortunately, been led away, without a shield, to the 
cells of passion and crime. Horrible reflection ! especially 
when connected with so many bright charms, so many beauties, 
and so much that was touching and interesting. She was 
remarkably kind to me, and as I had an inborn love for chil- 
dren, I caressed with pleasure her lovely, sweet child. One 
day, when I had fondled little Louis in Mr. Manville’s cham- 
ber, I took him by the hand and led him into my own room, 
thence into the hall above stairs, and as I was going down the 
front staircase, I heard a soft footstep directly behind me, when, 
looking around, I saw that Ivanora was coming after me. She 


312 


LOUISE ELTON ) 


called to me saying, “Miss Elton, wait one moment.” She 
seemed to be agitated and confused, and, as I feared, perhaps, 
that I had done something that touched some of her tender 
nerves, I returned to her with her child. 

She stood wishfully gazing through the window, towards the 
big-road, and she was pale and trembling. She took Louis, 
however, and held him to her breast ; then said I, “ Miss Iva- 
nora, I was going to carry Louis to see Miss Ashmore’s pet 
birds and leverets, in the cages, but I thought you preferred 
my bringing him to you?” — She replied, “’Tis rather damp 
this afternoon, and Louis is not very well; these were the rea- 
sons why I called you, and let me beg of you, Miss Elton, not 
to call me Miss Ivanora ; I have not avoided making your 
acquaintance from any motive particularly, but you are the 
only person, I assure you, out of the pale of my own family, 
to whom I have spoken for more than four years ; I have been 
a recluse for a great while ; I once thought that I never would 
open my lips again, but I feel drawn to you ; besides, I am under 
so many obligations to you for your kindness to my aged grand- 
father ; then you have seen my child, and must have heard of some 
of my misfortunes, and my rigid seclusion. If you feel disposed, 
I will reveal to you the history of my unfortunate life. I 
know its minutiae far better than any one else, consequently, 
I would rather you should learn it from my own lips ; and as 
grandfather is well enough for me to go home, I shall leave 
the Hall to-morrow, and bury myself within the walls of my 
secluded cottage again. Say, Miss Elton, will you come to 
me there, and listen to my tale of woe?” — “I will,” said I; 
“ I have learned the way to your hermitage, and will listen to 
your relation with pleasure. With pleasure ! I said, but mean 
not what I say, unless I specify and call it a mournful pleasure ; 
for about you there is a mournful pleasure ; but still I love to 
be near you, to look at you, and to listen to the tones of your 
voice, it is so sweet, and always seems to come from the recesses 
of a loving, tender heart. I once heard of you, before I came to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


313 


Manville Hall, and I have had reasons for concluding that your 
life has been clouded by some of the darkest scenes of sorrow. 
I have prohibited myself, notwithstanding, from making in- 
quiry into your history, as it was none of my business. 1 have 
all my life despised a meddlesome person, and have yet to see 
one of this class of persons*who did not become a gossip, and 
finally a slanderer. 1 Mind your own business, and let other 
people’s alone,’ is an old and favorite maxim with me. I learned 
it when I was a school-girl, and now it has not been forgotten. 
I will come therefore to-morrow, and listen to your sad story.” 
As I said this, Ivanora pressed me to her heart, and with tears 
streaming down her lovely cheeks, bade Louis kiss me, and 
we parted ; when she went to the chamber of her grandfather, 
and I to my own apartment, to meditate upon what I was to 
hear the ensuing day, from the lips of one so beautiful, so in- 
telligent, so truly sad, yet seemingly guilty of some great crime. 


CHAPTER X L I X. 

The anxiety I felt to be with Ivanora, to listen to her mys- 
terious story, may be more easily imagined by the reader, than 
described with the pen. After my day’s task was finished, 
I informed Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland, that their niece had 
invited me to her cottage, and that I had accepted her invita- 
tion, and if I did not return that night, they must not be 
uneasy. — “ I am happy,” said Mrs. Newland, “ that you have 
become acquainted with Ivanora, and that you are going to 
visit her. She is a dear, sweet, unfortunate child. You must 
soothe her sorrows, if you can, Miss Elton, for I suppose she 
will tell you her history. It will appear quite strange, how- 
ever, for the bell to be rung, and for Miss Louise not to make 
her appearance at the table. But go, my dear; and notwith- 
standing poor Ivan ora’s melancholy, she can interest you more 
in one night, than we old people have done during your sojourn 

27 


314 


LOUISE ELTON; 


at Manville Hall.” I tied on my bonnet and ran off to the 
cottage, for I had learned the way during the late illness of 
Mr. Manville, and was soon again at the yard gate. The 
leaves of summer were now full blown, and the old trees and 
vines which clustered about this lonely-looking cot, made it 
more secluded than ever. Their heavy dark branches were exu- 
berantly curtained with rich green arras, which had been woven, 
dyed, and hung by the hand of Nature. The most tremendous 
oaks and chestnuts were waving over the low roof, in the warm 
breezes of July. The old paling that once had formed the 
limits of the enclosure, had been torn away, and an even green 
hedge of hawthorn, holly, woodbine, jasmine, and rose vines, 
had been substituted in its place. The cottage was built of 
gray stone, and consisted of four rooms, separated by a narrow 
passage. It had great heavy chimneys of stone, and the fire- 
places were high and wide. The windows were long, narrow, 
and antique, the steps were great square slabs of stone, the 
doors were painted a dark lead-color, and the floors of the dif- 
ferent apartments had a strong, durable covering over them. 
The beds were large and fine, and everything about the cottage 
displayed neatness and good older. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Falkirk had two of the rooms, and the 
other two were Ivanora’s. The kitchen, dairy, ice-house, ser- 
vants’ house, apiary, and cattle sheds, were in the rear of the 
main building. In the chamber where Ivanora slept, the 
dark walls were covered with pictures ; in particular, over the 
mantel-piece was a group of portraits, on a large piece of can- 
vass. There was a gentleman, apparently about forty years of 
age, and by his side was a beautiful woman; and I knew 
instantly from the resemblance to old Mr. Manville and Miss 
Matilda, that it was the mother of Ivanora. There was an 
elderly-looking gentleman, who sat on a gilded ottoman, with 
his right arm around the delicate waist of Ivanora, whose long, 
brown ringlets, blooming cheeks, and gentle eyes, showed that 
the painting was executed when the roses of youth first bloomed 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


315 


upon her angelic cheeks. She had on a white muslin dress, 
a sky-blue silk apron, and held in, her beautifully moulded 
hand, a bunch of geranium leaves, and the delicate bloom of 
the lily of the valley. The bosom of her dress was cut low, 
and the snowy breasts which then heaved beneath the gossamer 
robe, were almost seen to throb on the canvass. Her white 
arms were bare, and nothing hid the delicacy of her full, 
round neck and white shoulder, but those glossy curls which 
dangled over their lily-white surface. I contented myself with 
the belief that the aged-looking gentleman, who gazed on her 
so fondly, and who then held her girlish form in his enraptured 
embrace, was her grandfather. In short, I set him down as 
the father of Ivanora’s father. In the niches on each side of 
the fire-place were the portraits of old Mr. Manville and his 
wife, and along the sides of the room were the pictures of two 
elegant-looking gentlemen. One was an intelligent, full-faced 
personage, uncommonly handsome, with black hair, clear 
complexion, black whiskers, and dark, rich blue eyes. He was 
attired in the most gorgeous of furs, as well as cloth and velvet. 
There was something like severity, however, in the expres- 
sion of his countenance, which I have often noticed in in- 
dividuals, and which, many a time is dispelled by the light of 
intellect, which often illumines the face when animated by 
conversation. The other gentleman looked young; he was 
tall, and of the most graceful and agile figure. His hair 
rolled in natural curls around his high forehead; and his eyes 
were large, soft, and luxuriantly black. His mouth was beauti- 
fully chiselled, and the accomplished artist had most success- 
fully represented his dark, rich, manly beard, after the sharpest 
razor seemed to have been drawn over his handsomely modelled 
cheeks and chin. At the foot of Ivanora’s snow-white couch 
hung another group. It consisted of Misses Emily, Lavinia, 
and Julia Manville. Emily’s features were decidedly queenly, 
beautiful, and dignified. The characteristics of Lavinia were 
loveliness of feature and gentleness, and all those charms 


316 


LOUISE ELTON) 


which adorn the female form. Julia was a tall, majestic 
woman, and notwithstanding the sternness in the expres- 
sion of her lustrous black eye, there was an interesting 
cast of countenance that made you gaze at her, even longer 
than you would have done at the queenly beauty of Emily, or 
the languishing gentleness of Lavinia. There were several 
paintings besides, of old dilapidated castles and fallen towers ; 
but there was one over the side-door of this apartment 
which attracted me most. It was a chateau in ruins. The 
stately columns around the edifice were overrun with rank, 
green vines, and a mould-covered marble mantel was made 
visible through the age-eaten windows, on which sat a vase of 
withered buds and leaves. Upon one turret of the chateau sat 
a raven with its wings folded, and its head drooping over the 
sad ruin. There was an avenue, leading to the front door, that 
was covered with tall, rank-looking weeds ) and the paling 
which had once formed the inclosure, had fallen down be- 
neath the rank clusters of weeds and heavy vines, and these 
wantonly twined themselves together, and crept through and 
through the faded slats, which once were white ; then, upon a 
wasted-looking terrace, on the outer-side of the court, was a bed 
of pure white violets in full bloom, where a large, fierce-look- 
ing black snake had been painted, with his lithe form inter- 
lacing the violets’ tender blossoms, and their delicate leaves. 
While I stood gazing upon the well-executed painting, en- 
deavoring to translate the mystic language it appeared to speak, 
I was awakened from my meditative slumber by the silvery 
tones of Ivanora’s voice, who called to me, saying, “ Miss El- 
ton, I have now rocked my child to sleep ; come into this room, 
and I will begin my sad story.” I advanced slowly, and in a 
melancholy mood sat myself beside the gloomy-looking, yet 
beautiful woman, who thus began the mournful tale of her life. 

STORY OF ELLA BIRLYN. 

u I shall go back, Miss Louise, to the hours of my girlhood, 
for since that time I have been hurried along the streams of 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 317 

adversity and sorrow, until I renounced the world, and hid my- 
self in these wild, dark shades. The strings of life’s harp, that 
once sent forth so many delightful strains at touch, are 
broken, — ay, all broken. Have you not heard of the Oriental 
lute, whose soft and delicately sounding musical strings are 
sometimes so much elongated, when moistened by the breath 
of a certain dampening gale that is breathed over them, 
that, during the time in which this wind is passing over them, 
they cannot be tuned ? I once thought that the music of the 
chords of my heart were hushed by a spell, which a withering 
breeze, far more destructive than the simoom, blew upon them. 
But this pestiferous, destroying gale, after awhile, winged 
its way to some scorching desert, and there, perchance, died 
upon the sandy plains. I was again enabled to re-tune the 
chords of my lute, and just as I had begun to strike them with 
the fervor and expression which I loved to indulge in, and 
which seemed to tell me was the most tranquillizing method of 
playing for the solace of melancholy, another blight came 
sweeping along, and not only softened, but snapped the strings 
of my newly re-tuned instrument, and as they are all ruined 
and broken, I thus declare that henceforward they will never 
be strung again ! When I was thirteen years of age, I was 
sent to a neighboring school, where I became acquainted with 
a youth of seventeen summers. His parents resided near my 
own, and he had several sisters to whom I was greatly attached. 
Of course, this gentleman was the first one I had loved. We 
wandered along the flowery paths of our pupilage, till I was in 
my fifteenth year. One day, during the fragrant hours of 
spring, I was engaged with my school-mates gathering mint 
on the edge of the limpid brooklets which wound round the 
hills near our rustic school-house. These ran in so many 
directions, and crossed and re-crossed each other so often that 
they formed a variety of the most beautiful little islets. One 
of these was larger than the others, and was more luxuriantly 
covered with mint, and I plunged through the water, and stood 

27 * 


318 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


on its perfumed bed. It was rather cool, too, for the season in 
that climate, as it was fresh, lovely April. The spangles of 
the night’s dew had not been dried by the early rays of the 
sun, so, in searching intently for pebbles underneath the tall 
mint, I lost my slippers. While I was looking for them, Leon 
Edgmont came to me. He had been watching me for some time, 
and came to assist me in searching for what I had lost, and to 
tell me that my companions had grown tired waiting for me, 
and had run away in search of other sport. I suddenly became 
chilly, could scarcely speak, and my naked feet and ankles 
were almost purple, so long had I stood in the cold dew. 
At last, Leon took me in his arms, bound my wet feet in a 
large, yellow silk pocket handkerchief, and carried me to a 
cottage close by, where the girls were waiting for us. As 
he bore me along, he said, ( Ella, you must never love any 
one but me, for I have selected you to be my wife. I 
will wait till you are sixteen years old, then you must marry 
me ; that is, if you love me. Tell me now, Ella, if there is 
any one you love more than me ? and tell me if you will con- 
sent to marry me when you are older V I was a simple child 
of nature, then. I knew nothing of duplicity, or of coquetry, 
and as my honest heart dictated the truth for my lips, they 
uttered these words, 1 Yes, Leon, I love you, and will marry 
you/ We continued at the same school for some time. The 
sun all the while shone brightly, and the beams of the moon 
were tranquilly rocked upon the bosom of the limpid streams 
that crossed our green paths. The clover-blossoms on the mea- 
dows were so fragrant, and we saw the pearl-like pebbles in the 
clear water, and the islets of mint continued green and vigorous. 
Naturally, however, Leon was of a fretful temper. He was 
handsome, and remarkably sprightly, and had a small income. 
He was not liked by others of the school ; for he seemed to 
delight in obstinacy, and rather grew tyrannical towards every 
one but myself. I could, however, many a time, subdue him 
by a frown. Often he would look at me when he was loqua- 
cious and irascible ; but if I shook my head at him, or said, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 319 

‘Don't say that, Leon/ he would instantly grow calm and 
silent. In a few months, his parents determined to remove 
from that neighborhood, and, indeed, from that State. The 
old gentleman, Mr. Edgmont, became fascinated with the ac- 
count he received of the fertility and delights of a Texan soil 
and climate. Of course, Leon had to go. The tears that 
streamed from my childlike eyes, when he told me he was 
going away, were the first which stained my cheeks with sorrow. 
I wept bitterly during the day, and at night, when I slept, I 
was disturbed with frightful dreams, and often was startled as 
I saw Leon in my vision coming to bid me farewell. 

“ The sad day at length dawned on which we were to ‘ take 
the parting hand.' We walked into the garden at my father's, 
and sat down on a green bank, shaded with virgin's bower and 
wild-rose. He there gave me a plain gold ring, as a pledge 
of his love, and said, ‘ Wear it, Ella, for me,' and as he placed 
it on my finger, he remarked. ‘ I return, next spring, and 
with this ring I'll thee wed.' I promised him that I would 
be faithful, and in a few moments he had rode out of my sight. 
I treasured the ring, and daily refreshed the promise I had 
made with the tenderest recollections and hopes. As our 
country school was broken by the departure of several families 
of the neighborhood, I was kept at home, and instructed by my 
mother. When Leon had been gone some time, and as I could 
not hear from him, I resolved, one day, that I would write to 
him, and chide him for keeping me in such painful suspense. 
I closed my letter, had my saddle put on my little pony, took 
a servant boy behind me, on a pillion, and away I went to the 

little village of , to deposit my letter in the post-ofliee. 

Going along, my horse seemed to get a sting from something, 
for he darted across the road, and threw the servant and my- 
self on the blue-grass of a large pasture. A number of negroes 
who were at work in sight of us came to our assistance, but I 
was perfectly giddy. # The fall had affected my head, so that I 
knew not what was going on. The negroes belonged to an 


320 


LOUISE ELTON: 


elderly gentleman upon whose domain I was thrown. The 
kind-hearted creatures took me in their arms, and carried me 
to the house. The old gentleman was at home, where he 
received me into his arms, administered to my necessities, 
and sent his fine carriage for my mother to come and see me, 
as I was unable to be removed. I remained at Avondale, the 
residence of this gentleman, for several days, and I was deliri- 
ous all the time. When I recovered a little strength, he 
loaned his carriage, horses, and servants to my father and 
mother, who carried me home. I have often looked back to 
that fatal fall, for it seems to have been an omen of all my 
undertakings in after-life; which have been dashed to the 
earth, and clouded by a delirium of sadness, such as attended 
me after my horse threw me at Avondale, and which will 
ever shade this humble cottage. After I recovered, Mr Word- 
ings, the old gentleman at whose house I had been so kindly 
cared for, came to see me, and I was not a little astonished, 
when he informed me that he had fallen in love with me, and 
desired to marry me ! My parents always had disliked Leon 
Edgmont, and they were glad that he had gone so far from me. 
They mostly objected to his temper, and nothing could have 
made them believe him capable of making a kind husband. 
My mother often told me that Leon was only fascinated with 
my girlish beauty, and that if I married him, he might be 
amiable or kind for a while, but after we came to the sober 
realities of every-day life, that I would regret then that I was 
the wife of such a tyrant and scold, as she foresaw he would 
make. During my illness at Avondale, it appeared that Mr. 
Wordings pilfered my letter that I was bearing to the office, 
for Leon, and had read it. When he admitted to me that he 
had read it, I charged him with having acted dishonorably in 
breaking the seal. To justify himself, he declared that I 
opened the letter myself, when I was first brought to his 
house, and told him I was just going* to put it into the 
office, and asked him to read it and advise me in the matter. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 321 

My head was confused, I confess ; still, I have never believed 
hut that Mr. Wordings broke the seal of that letter, and 
thereby informed himself of my intentions towards Leon. He 
was my father's senior about twelve years. He owned a mag- 
nificent residence, in a distant city, and Avondale was an 
earthly elysium. He was driven about, by servants in livery, 
in a fine Newark carriage, which cost fifteen hundred dollars. 
He usually drove four splendid bay horses ) and there was no 
end to his money. He was then a widower the second time. 
He had no children, and told me that he only desired to make 
a pet of me, and that if I would marry him, at his death he 
would give me every cent he had upon earth. I informed him 
that I loved Leon Edgmont, and had promised to marry him 
the ensuing spring. Then he proffered me his advice ; told 
me that Leon was a dissipated, reckless young man, and that 
he would not be true to me ; that new scenes and new faces, 
i in a distant land, would estrange his affections from me, and 
that the love of school-children was like the bubbling of the 
1 soda powder, exhilarating while it was effervescing, but, when 
it ceased to sparkle and foam, it was of all things the most 
insipid. He used to talk to my father and mother in the 
same way, and they thought just as he wished them to think, 
and every time he had an audience with them they were 
influenced more and more against poor Leon Edgmont. 

“ I again wrote to Leon, but received no reply to my letters. 
I would write again, and again, but could not hear from him. 
During Leon's silence, Mr. Wordings visited me constantly and 
regularly. Many a time, too, when he was at our house, he 
had letters in his pockets, that Leon had written to me, which 
he had taken from the office and would not give me. One day 
when I was in the deepest distress, and in tears, and unsettled 
as to what course I should pursue, Mr. Wordings begged me 
to come to a conclusion in his favor. 1 For,' said he , 1 only look 
how Edgmont has treated you. There is no good reason for 
his silence, and he will not write to you ; he has treated you 


322 


LOUISE ELTON; 


contemptibly. Forget him, Ella; summon your pride of cha- 
racter, and your personal independence; spurn the. fellow’s 
image from your heart, and marry the man who is able to settle 
upon you the fortune of a queen, and one who will love you as 
the Oriental worshipper loves his idol.’ My parents aided Mr. 
Wordings, for they preached to me about his being such a 
steady man, that he was good-looking enough, and his fortune 
large, and all those glittering charms which wealth alone 
can purchase were duly exhibited to my tearful eyes. I saw 
all of this grandeur, however, through the veil of sorrow which 
dimmed them, for I still wept for Leon, even when the gaudy 
shows of Mr. Wordings’ great fortune were placed vividly in 
panorama before me. ‘ You are too bright a gem, my darling 
Ella,’ said Mr. Wordings, ‘'to be hidden or crushed by that 
heartless man, for I know Edgmont well.’ ‘But,’ replied T, 
‘ Mr. Wordings, I do not love you, and I am pained at the idea 
of marrying a gentleman I do not love.’ — ‘ Never mind, my 
dear,’ he would say ; ‘ I will place you in such splendor, and 
will love you so fondly, that you will be sure to learn to love 
me. Will you marry me ? Ella, only say Yes to this question, 
and you will seal my earthly happiness.’ Before I left the 
parlor, I consented to marry him, fixed the day, and Mr. 
Wordings hastened to tell the news to my infatuated parents. 
I was an only child, tenderly beloved by my father and mother, 
and as they believed I was going to marry so advanta- 
geously, great joy was expressed; while they praised me for 
my firmness and decision of character, in banishing, as they 
thought I had done, Leon from my heart. Necessary pre- 
parations were made, and Mr. Wordings told me to send to 
New York, or Philadelphia, or to Paris, if I chose to equip 
myself properly for the occasion ; that if there was anything 
on earth I wished for, to send and get his money and buy 
it. Poor unfortunate ! the wedding day came before I had 
taken one moment to reflect seriously upon the step I had taken, 
for I was hurried and whirled along, by my gay companions, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD 


323 


who came to assist me, and to solicit favors of me, after I be- 
came the wife of such a kingly old millionaire. It was not 
long after I was called Mrs. Wordings, that a friend came to 
see me, one day, who told me that she was an eye-witness to 
the agonies that rent the heart of my poor dear Leon, when he 
received a paper with the annunciation of my marriage to Mr. 
Wordings. Then, oh, then, I began to look back to the hours 
of first love ! To the bright sun that used to shine, and to the 
transparent streamlets, the fragrant flowers, and the per- 
fumed islands in the meadows. The first group of portraits 
there, represents my father, my mother, Mr. Wordings, and 
myself. Little thought you, Miss Elton, when you gazed on 
the picture of that old man, that he was once my husband; for 
I heard you whisper 1 Perchance that is the likeness of her 
grandfather, and as he fondles her so tenderly, she must have 
been a great pet with the old man/ I imagined your surprise, 
when I should tell you that he was my husband ! When you so 
wishfully examined the ruins of the chateau, also, I heard you 
murmuring, 1 What can it mean V I painted it, Miss Elton, 
and it represents myself. I placed those withered flowers, that 
ragged foliage, those mouldering columns, and time-worn lat- 
tices, there on purpose. I put the raven on the broken column, 
and interlaced that loathsome black snake, amongst those fresh 
leaves, and pale blossoms in the bed of violets. I hung, with 
my pencil, the mournful ivy over those sashless windows, and 
purposely designed that those Yisigothic and Yandal-like weeds 
should rear their rank heads in my clear pathway, which at 
one time glittered with silvery sands. The next group is 
Emily, Lavinia, and Julia Manville, the idols of my heart, the 
friends and darling companions of my tender years.”—' “ And, 
who are these ?” said I, pointing to the portraits of the two 
magnificent-looking gentlemen, which hung on the opposite side. 
I was impatient to learn their names, and as it was late in the 
night, I thought I could not sleep until I heard thier history 
too. Ivanora burst into tears and remarked, “We will sleep, 


824 


LOUISE ELTON; 


now, for you are weary. There are other veils I know, more- 
over, over my melancholy life, that I will raise, and then let 
you view my sorrows. Sleep now, my dear Miss Elton, and 
come to me again on Saturday, and I will conclude my gloomy 
story.’ ” 

I could not sleep, however, so completely were my thoughts 
absorbed by what I had heard from this sweet woman. I quite 
forgot that she might be an exile from virtue, for there was a 
soft charm about her, despite of her follies, and perhaps crimes, 
which made me lose sight of her guilt. I determined, not- 
withstanding, to listen to her story before I decided, for I con- 
sidered virtue too sacred a principle to be trifled with, and that 
perhaps I might have been led into error by certain appear- 
ances, — the fact of Ivanora’s seclusion, her study to be, as she 
said, “ hidden in those wild shades,” that she was a mother, 
and that I had heard from the lips of Miss Ashmore that 
she had “ disgraced the family;” but still I felt disposed 
to hear her saddest song. She seemed so truthful, I was 
eager for her to introduce me herself to the facts in her case. 
I think it is a sad thing to make any one a victim of opinion 
or prejudice. Female reputation is too often injured in this 
way ; and people frequently prove themselves disciples of preju- 
dice, suspicion, and injustice by not taking proper pains to 
investigate tales of slander and envy. Others, again, will in- 
quire ; and from this principle of generosity and high regard 
for virtue, I once knew a lady who was permitted to take her 
place in society, who otherwise might have become the victim of 
suspicion, and perhaps, considering herself abandoned by those 
with whom she had formerly associated, something shocking to 
her feelings might have occurred, and driven her to despair. 
Many, yes, very many, were the conjectures relative to her 
character, which had been seriously questioned ; still the com- 
munity in which she resided so loved and esteemed the princi- 
ples of truth, that they were not satisfied with the vile 
tongue of “ Madame Rumor,” who, in that liberal region, was 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


325 


suspected as a slanderer, they therefore investigated the 
charges made, and also examined the character of those 
who were loudest in outcry against her, and at length, when 
they discovered that she had been the victim of calumny, the 
pure and fragrant flower was again cultivated, and permitted 
to bloom in all its native loveliness in the gardens of refined 
and virtuous society. I therefore could not close my eyes in 
slumber till I had offered up a prayer, and shed a tear, for 
that beautiful and unfortunate woman, whose countenance 
showed plainly that the iron footprints of sorrow had left deep 
tracks upon its lovely surface. 


CHAPTER L. 

In a melancholy deliberate mood I again entered my school- 
room on Friday morning. I was pleased that Friday had come, 
for Ivanora told me to return the ensuing day, which was 
Saturday, when we would have time to commune together with- 
out interruption, and my avidity to learn the remainder of her 
history, of course, was very great. Whilst I sat with Lizette 
and Ada in my school-room, I could hear the sound of music 
and singing below stairs, as Carrie Ashmore was entertaining 
Captain Mays, and the old Hall was ringing with her gay 
songs and loud laughter. Music was the only science that she 
understood, and she performed as elegantly upon the guitar as 
the piano. I used to listen to her for hours after night, when 
she sat on the gallery ; and many a time when the weather 
was mild she would make a scene of enchantment in one of the 
vine-covered bowers in the front yard : these were shaded 
with black honeysuckle ; and the rich clear notes of Miss Ash- 
more’s voice used to float to the Hall on the night-breezes, 
which were delicately perfumed by the honeysuckle and other 

28 


326 


LOUISE ELTON) 


fragrant summer flowers. I often said to myself, “ What a pity 
it is that Miss Ashmore has so much vanity. I love self-pride, 
hut where vanity rules the heart, the character is always despi- 
cable.” The time that Miss Carrie should have devoted to the 
cultivation of her mind was spent in adjusting her fine dresses, 
and in committing to memory light trivial phrases from love 
tales, and a few stanzas from sentimental songs. While I was 
absorbed in serious reflection, she came dashing into the 
school-room. She had on a long velvet riding-habit, and her 
fine velvet cap was decorated with tall, quivering green feathers ; 
she was very tall naturally, and in addition to her stature, the 
high plumes of her riding-cap made it necessary for her to bow 
her head when she came into the room. She seemed confused, 
and in a hurried manner said, “ Miss Elton, I have just run 
back to get my riding-whip, for I left Captain Mays at the 
stile. I did it on purpose too, as I wanted to display my ele- 
gant figure to him, with my riding-habit and cap on. Harry 
Upperton used to say he would rather see Miss Ashmore glide 
off in her velvet riding dress, than to look at the finest ship 
that ever sailed from Charleston, South Carolina. You know 
I have promised to ride with Captain Mays this afternoon. Old 
Uncle Stepney has just saddled Ranger for me to ride. Oh ! 
I am so fond of riding on horseback ; but I thought I would 
run in here and ask you how I look ? and ask you to make 
Rosalind get some worms for my poor starving birds ; and you 
had better go with her, Miss Elton, and see that she attends to 
them. You know she will neglect them if you do not watch 
her. Negroes are so provoking. I wish they were all in Guinea ; 
and I am determined never to marry a man who owns a negro. 
The fortune Uncle Manville has settled upon me is all in 
money, thank goodness ; and I am going to set Rosalind free, 
and pay her by the job to wait upon Captain Mays and her 
Miss Carrie. You know how you always pity the poor birds, 
because they are caged, Miss Louise ; then attend to them for 
me ; and if the Captain and I go as far as the Sulphur Springs, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 327 

over the mountains, I will pull some wild flowers for you to 
press in your herb — herb* — something, I don’t know what it 
is. Don’t forget, Miss Elton, and while you are seeing about 
the worms, make Rosalind water the leverets, they are perish- 
ing, poor things, and also make Rosa clean the cages. Uncle 
has sent to town for a workman to come out and build me a 
new aviary; then bird and leveret raising will be more decent, 
and I will attend to it myself. I’ll be back about tea-time. 
Good-bye,” said she, as she banged my door after her, and as 
her gorgeous velvet robe swept the stairs when she ran down, 
Lizette looked at me, and in the most unpremeditated manner 
imaginable, exclaimed, u What a fool !” 

What a contrast thought I between the gay woman, whose 
notes are so strong and clear, at the Hall, and the one who 
warbles such plaintive and tender strains, within her humble 
cottage, beyond the mountain glade. After breakfast, on Satur- 
day morning, I left the Hall for “ Moss Cottage,” (for by this 
name it was called by Ivanora). I wondered as I walked along 
if I could not devise some means to break the links of the 
sorrowful chain that held my fair young friend in such painful 
slavery. She looked to me to be as young as a woman of 
twenty autumns. She was tall and elegant, and as all the 
writers have said for the last forty years, in describing ecstatic 
beauty, so say I, u she was of light and graceful form.” Her 
hair was of a dark, rich chestnut brown. She gathered the long 
ringlets together which had been curled by the hand of mother 
Nature, and tied them at the back of her head with a dark rib- 
bon, and her front hair was parted evenly upon her high organ 
of benevolence ; she made a broad and smooth band of this, car- 
ried it over her ears, and then twisted the ends amongst the clus- 
ter of curls that hung at the back of her neck. She wore black 
dresses, as if she was in mourning for some lately deceased 
friend. She had large, sorrowful brown eyes, yet as perfect a 


* Herbarium. 


328 


LOUISE ELTON; 


hazel eye as I ever gazed into. Her eyebrows curved high 
above her eyes, and they were heavy, and of a darker brown 
than those burnished ringlets which were separated so regularly 
above her lofty white forehead. Her complexion was pale, 
though not of a sickly hue. She had a moist, rich, liealthy- 
looking skin, without a shade of pink upon her smooth round 
cheeks. Her countenance never seemed tranquil to me, for at 
times she became exceedingly nervous, and then her beautiful 
poetic eyebrows were only separated by the wrinkles which formed 
a frown on her snowy brow. It looked to me as if sorrow and 
vexation often exhibited themselves on the scornful muscles 
of her face, for she occasionally, when in deep thought, drew 
down the corners of her pretty lips, as if her innate spirit was 
conversing with some adverse genii of the hills, and then her 
face evinced, by its contractile muscles, the contempt she felt 
at his presence. She seemed to be very amiable, as well as 
noble-minded and perfectly beautiful. She had lost none of 
those embellishments which render woman so charming an, ob- 
ject, but her cheerfulness and sprightliness. Why these de- 
sirable traits had been crushed is for the inquisitive reader yet 
to find out. Her voice was clear, effeminate, and musical, and 
she was mild and chaste in her conversation. She was obedient 
and affectionate to her grandfather, and also to her aunts, and 
when at the Hall, I often thought she manifested more for- 
bearance towards the disagreeable Miss Ashmore, than any of 
us. She was also kind, polite, and humane to the servants. 
She loved Lizette and Ada, and they were tenderly attached 
to “ Cousin,” as they called her. But I was afraid that a 
mother’s fondness led her to make too great an idol of her 
beautiful, blue-eyed Louis. In short, she was the Pandora of 
my imagination, for it seemed “ that all the good and lovely 
geniuses had presented her with a charm,” which was then set 
like a gem in a royal diadem, and glittered, as it were, behind 
a delicately woven veil. I formed many resolutions, and con- 
structed many plans, to kill that loathsome snake which was 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


329 


coiled amongst those sweet violets. In my imagination, I 
rebuilt the ruined chateau, gathered fresh flowers from the 
mountain's side, planted greener vines in the intercolumnia- 
tion, I remoulded the stately columns, and drove away the 
mournful raven that grieved over the fabric. When I arrived 
at Moss Cottage, I found Ivanora with Louis in her arms, and 
as I entered the apartment, she arose to receive me and re- 
marked, “ I have been looking for you ; but it has really been 
a long time, Miss Elton, since I looked for any one to visit me, 
except my family relations. I had begun to think, perchance, 
that my story of yesternight, my mystery and melancholy, 
had driven you away, and that you would not come to me any 
more at Moss Cottage." I told her that I had lingered in the 
green avenue which led to her abode, endeavoring to devise 
some means to restore her to the world again, or if not to the 
world, to the bosom of the family at Manville Hall, where I 
was satisfied that all the inmates loved her devotedly. All she 
said in reply was, u Alas ! alas ! my friend. 

“ ‘ My life is like the shattered wreck, 

Cast by the waves upon the shore ; 

The broken mast and drifted deck, 

Tell of the sad shipwreck that’s o’er.’ ” 


CHAPTER LI. 

“ Manville Hall," resumed Ivanora, u is my native home. 
I was born in the chamber occupied by grandpa. My 
mother married, when she was quite young, Mr. Philander 
Birlyn, and my maiden name was Ella Birlyn. Old Mr. 
Finlay, the father of Dr. Walter Finlay, and Colonel Man- 
ville's first wife, at an earlier time, lived at this cottage. Co- 

28 * 


330 


LOUISE ELTON; 


lonel Manville was married in the room there that fronts the 
garden, and Waldegrave, Emily, Lavinia, and Julia, were all 
born under this moss-grown roof. My father and mother 
resided at the Hall till I was ten years of age. Lavinia and I 
were born on the same day, and we passed the gleeful hours 
of childhood underneath those antique trees at Manville Hall. 
Colonel Manville and grandpa were in partnership, but after the 
death of old Mr. and Mrs. Finlay, the Colonel concluded that 
he would move to a Southern State. He had two hundred 
negroes, and grandpa had more, — too many entirely, though, 
for the size of the Manville Hall estate. My father also 
became inspired with the ideas of adventure, and removed 

with my mother and myself to , three hundred miles from 

Manville Hall. These movements separated me from my 
long-loved Emily and Lavinia. We, however, corresponded 
regularly, and when I was twelve years old, my mother came 
to Manville Hall on a visit. Colonel Manville was advised 
that she intended coming, and as we were so extremely anxious 
to be together at the old Hall once more, he kindly sent Emily 
and Lavinia to meet me. Oh ! we were so happy to assem- 
ble again at our dear native place. We remained there six 
weeks, and again left for home, and I saw them no more till 
they came to my father’s house to be bridemaids for me. 
They never saw Leon Edgmont, but had an instinctive know- 
ledge of him, so carefully had I spoken of him in my letters 
to them. When Emily saw Mr. Wordings, she laughed and 
said, 1 Ella, what a brain-sick creature you are ! why, what do 
you think your grandpa will say, when he sees you married to 
a gentleman who looks almost as old as himself?’ All that 
Lavinia said was this, ‘ You know not, my dear cousin, how 
much we were astonished when we received your letter, insist- 
ing upon our coming to see you married. It was very unex- 
pected, and pa laughed it off as a joke, till he received your 
father’s letter assuring us that it was true.’ I supposed, of 
course, that grandpa would not approve of it, for my parents 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


331 


wrote to him, but he made no reply to their letters, and would 
not come to my wedding. I had often heard him say that he 
knew that no young woman could love an old man, and that 
whoever married one did it to enrich themselves, cherishing 
the fond hope that the ancient husband would soon die and 
leave them riches sufficient to insure them a young husband. 
I therefore knew that he could say nothing in favor of my 
marriage with Mr. Wordings, and I knew by his silence that 
he was displeased. I was under the control, however, of my 
father and mother, who were anxious that I should be installed 
at Avondale. Emily and Lavinia stayed with me for three 
months after I was married, and I was tolerably happy while 
they were with me, for we had crowds of the gayest company 
at Avondale all the time. It seemed as if Mr. Wordings un- 
derstood my feelings, for he never allowed the fires which 
were made for one fashionable assembly to burn down, ere he 
rekindled more for others, who glittered as brightly in wealth 
and luxury. 

u After a while Col. Manville wrote for Emily and Lavinia to 
come home. Grief, I thought, surely would kill me, when Dr. 
Finlay brought them from my father’s house to bid me fare- 
well. I then sought the society of my mother, but to he by 
her side was to secretly reproach her for marrying me to the 
man I cordially despised. But she was naturally a retiring, 
domestic woman, very religious, and perfectly devoted to 
my father. She therefore believed that a woman’s interest 
should be consulted, as well as her sentimental feeling. She 
believed, also, that after people marry, that they learn to love 
one another, if they did not love beforehand ; and she thought 
that Mr. Wordings was one of the best of men, and that his 
hand and fortune would always secure me, not only a luxu- 
rious berth in life, but one of certain comfort and independence 
when she was dead and gone. My grandfather had two sons 
at that time, brothers of my mother. They were thought by 
my father to be very extravagant in business calculations. My 


332 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


mother would often say to me, ‘ Ella, there is no foreseeing 
what is to become of the estate at Manville Hall. Father is 
security for a vast amount, and your uncles are wild in their 
calculations. Arthur has just purchased a southern plantation 
and negroes, which will cost him one hundred and fifty thou- 
sand dollars. Your grandpa is responsible for everything 
Brother Arthur does. You know not what a gratification it is 
to your father and me, to see our beloved daughter so inde- 
pendently and handsomely settled in life/ I used to listen to 
my mother, but made her no reply, for I could not be satisfied 
with my husband, and no argument could tranquillize my per- 
turbed mind. In the course of a few months, I grew sullen 
and contrary, for I did not learn to love Mr. Wordings, as he 
had promised that I would. Nor did I try to learn to love him, 
for it would have been an exceedingly uninteresting lesson. I 
hated myself because I had wounded the heart that loved me 
so dearly. I was daily thinking of Leon Edgmont, and when 
Mr. Wordings saw that I was unhappy, he redoubled his vigi- 
lance to place new toys in my way to divert my attention. 
He gave me splendid silks and velvets, he sent to Lon- 
don, and purchased three sets of jewelry, one of emerald, 
one of pearl, and a third of diamonds. These consisted of 
bracelets, ear-rings, finger-rings, breastpins, bandeaus for my 
hair, necklaces, brooches, armlets, anklets, buckles, and a 
cestus for my waist. They cost him forty thousand dollars, and 
besides these, he had given me a locket containing his minia- 
ture and my own, of such massive gold, and so heavily set with 
diamonds and rubies, that I could not wear it. He also gave 
me a watch and guard-chain, which cost him three hundred 
dollars. But I cared about as much for all these glitter- 
ing trinkets, as the bird cares for its cage of silver wire, or 
the water cup from which it slakes its thirst, even if it be decked 
on the gilded rim with gems of great value. I, like the bird, 
fluttered and beat my wings against the wires of the cage, often 
looking out at the green woods and white flowers, and the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


333 


shady paths alcrng which the companions of my youth seemed 
to tread with so much happiness and cheerfulness. A fresh 
misfortune befell me during the second year of my marriage to 
Mr. Wordings. Death swept away my mother, and my father 
only survived her two months. I had not seen grandpa Man- 
ville since I had been married, and as I was anxious to be re- 
leased from my old husband’s side, I accompanied the remains 
of my father and mother to Manville Hall. After their inter- 
ment in the garden, I spent two weeks with grandpa, and then 
began my sorrowful journey to Avondale. I arrived safely, 
and I thought every day that Mr. Wordings was rather pleased 
than not, that I had lost my parents. 

u He acted as if he was delighted at my absolute dependence 
upon him, and he made an effort to estrange my affection from 
my grandfather. He called him a mean, selfish man, and 
said he had reasons for believing that the elementary princi- 
ples of primogeniture still clung to him ; that he was a Scotch- 
man by birth ; and that not even the influence of a republican 
government, like that of the United States, had mollified the 
principle incorporated in the domestic code which he framed 
under monarchical institutions; that as Uncle Arthur was the 
eldest son, and, no doubt, would inherit everything, I, in 
all probability, would be a beggar and an offcast, if I ever 
depended upon my grandfather for a support. It was this 
argument that wounded me so deeply. However, I knew it 
to be utterly false, but still it redoubled my hatred for the 
one whose presence I loathed, and whose reasoning could 
never convince me of anything. I liked him less and less 
every day. I scolded him upon almost every occasion, but 
he had so much forbearance, and was such a philosopher, that 
he bore with me. He knew, too, he had won me by unfair 
gambling ; that he had cheated in the game ; and he had 
heard that I knew it also. Those letters from Leon Edgmont, 
which he had purloined from the post-office, intercepted, read, 
and burned, phoenix-like, had arisen from their ashes, and I 


334 


LOUISE ELTONj 


read every day, in their unscathed, golden letters, that at 
the time of my union with Mr. Wordings, Leon's heart was 
mine. At times I was almost frantic, still Mr. Wordings 
humored me with everything he vainly hoped would soothe 
my distracted heart. He saw his folly, however, as we all 
generally see our own short-comings when it is too late to 
retract what we have done. The sun, which once shone so 
brightly, and by which he might have seen how to regulate 
his course for future days, had now sunk behind some dark, 
inaccessible mountain. There was many a woman, notwith- 
standing, who could have lived happily with Mr. Wordings, 
and thanked her Grod for so kind a husband, for he had mar- 
ried happily twice before I became his wife. He lived with 
his first wife twenty years, and with the second ten years, and 
he told me often that he had had more jars with me, and that 
I had made him see more trouble in eighteen months, than he 
saw with his first wives in thirty years. But I was too young 
for him, and I was grieved all the time at the pain I had 
caused Leon Edgmont. My v feelings, too, were like the 
boiling jets of the Obsidian mountain, for sometimes my pas- 
sions would abate, then, again, the jets, like Krabla’s, would 
burst forth with uncontrollable violence. I tried music, 
society, books, and flowers. Music, however, had no melody 
to me then, for I loved no strain but that which breathed of 
the lost days I so vainly longed to live over again, and I was 
so absent-minded and sullen, that my companions could not 
interest me, nor I them ; and the flowers all lost their beauty 
and fragrance. My thoughts were so scattered I could not 
read. I recollect that I used to sit with a book in my hand, 
gazing on a page for hours without reading a single line. I 
did this to make Mr. Wordings believe that I was reading, 
when I did not wish him to speak to me. I often said to 
myself, “I am now well punished for what I have done; for 
listening to the zealous pleadings of an old man for my hand, 
which was pledged to another. I justly deserve to suffer the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 335 

ordeal of penitence and sorrow.” Then I would be easy for 
awhile, but when the reflection came home to my heart that I 
had foolishly listened to the advice of others, and that my 
husband had resorted to means to rob me of that connubial 
felicity which was in store for me, I again became wild and 
inconsolable. Mr. Wordings saw every day that the cloud 
which overspread my heart grew thicker and darker. One 
evening he proposed to take me on a travelling expedition, and 
requested me to select some watering-place of notoriety. I named 
one, and we left Avondale, and did not return for three months. 
During this time I was mingling with crowds of gay company, 
and nothing scarcely interrupted my ephemeral pleasures but 
the occasional meeting with an old friend or school-mate, who 
never failed to express their surprise at hearing of my marriage 
to Mr. Wordings. I often heard the remark, ‘Well, isn’t it 
strange that Ella Birlyn married that old man ? I just as 
much expected that she would be married to young Edgmont 
as I ever expected to marry my own husband.’ A second 
person would say, ‘ Oh ! it was his money. You know it is 
impossible for a young girl to love an old man. She, no 
doubt, despises him, but old men are blind to the duplicity of 
girls, and very likely old Wordings is dotard enough to believe 
that Ella loves him. An old man in his fix is like a woman 
in love with herself. She vainly believes that every one 
adores her; and thus it is with Wording. He is so intoxi- 
cated with admiration for his young wife, that he believes she 
loves him. Poor Ella ! she strives to be cheerful, and would 
make the world believe that she is really satisfied, but, once 
in a while, the curtain which conceals her wretchedness is 
blown aside. She often laughs, and strives to smile cheer- 
fully, but her smiles and laughter are forced, and will eventu- 
ally terminate in a ghastly grin.’ 

“ I could not bear to hear these things, for they were too 
true. I had pride enough, however, to try and conceal my 
unhappiness from the eyes of the inquisitive world. I often, 


336 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


when looking at my gorgeous apparel, my magnificent house 
and costly furniture, my carriage, horses, and liveried servants, 
my massive silver plate, and my courtly jewels, declared 
that I would have been happier with Leon Edgmont, in the 
humblest home upon the prairies of the 1 far west/ I seemed 
to yearn for a white-washed cottage, with vines and wild flowers 
around it. I wanted to drink water from one of Nature’s 
fountains, for I loved the rustic gourd far better than the silver 
goblet, and I longed for herds and flocks to roam around , my 
dwelling ; and I sighed for all those truly endearing scenes, 
which are afforded by a pastoral life. I continued, however, 
during our stay at the Springs, to dance along the green laby- 
rinths of delight. A fashionable watering-place is just like 
youth and pleasure. It has its seasons — seasons of delight 
and romance, which, while they continue, render all things 
charming — all things ravishing to the eye and the heart ; but, 
alas ! how dull to me, how old, and uninteresting these plea- 
sures, amusements, and merry songs soon grew ; for at heart, 
I did not enjoy anything. All with me had been chilled, and I 
compared every earthly pleasure to the white light of the 
pompholyx, which gleams for a moment upon the dome of the 
chemist’^ furnace, and, while a certain degree of warmth is 
kept up, glistens, but so soon as the air breathes against it, it 
vanishes and is lost. I returned to Avondale, less satisfied, 
if possible, than when I left it. I was sullen and often 
angry, and vainly searched through the bowers of my imagina- 
tion for the fabled nepenthe I so ardently wished to taste, in 
order to drive away my cares. Every day Mr. Wordings saw 
that the sediment of life was settling thicker and thicker and 
thicker in his massive cups, and the nectar he daily sipped 
was becoming pungent and bitter. He remonstrated with me ; 
but then I had not seen the beautiful things in the temple of 
reason. To me, his argument was like that of one who labors 
to make a blind person understand the glory and brilliancy of 
the sun, the moon, and the stars. I fretted at every trifle ; 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 337 

and I became like the wheel that turns all day upon its axle- 
tree without oil, that creaks and makes a hideous noise from 
desiccation. You may, also, pour water upon it, but after three 
or four circumrotations the same sound that makes the nerves 
cringe, will be again produced from frication. Well, one day 
I told Mr. Wordings that I was the most unhappy creature 
upon earth ; that I had been miserable ever since our marriage, 
and that I had not forgiven him for cutting the thread of hap- 
piness, which Leon Edgmont and myself were winding, and 
that I would thank him to send me home. He asked me what 
I meant; said he knew not what I was talking about, and 
charged me with lunacy. Said I, f Mr. Wordings, you robbed 
me of Leon Edgmont’ s letters; you cheated me out of the 
husband I should have had. I know this, and if necessary, I 
can prove it ; I am going home, and I do not wish you to 
follow me/ Again he remonstrated ; he told me that the 
world would censure me, and that he had done nothing to make 
me so miserable ; that he would not take any hand in sending 
me away, and I need not ask him, — that it was disgraceful in 
me to cherish a love for Leon Edgmont, after I became his 
wife. Said I, 1 As to the opinion of the world, I care not a 
farthing’s worth.’ For I then attached not the slightest im- 
portance to public sentiment ; that great and terrible tribunal 
before which I was going. Nor did I consider myself culpable, 
for I assured him that I had drawn a veil over the affection I 
once entertained for Leon ; and that Leon had forgotten me, 
and I was then glad of it ; that he was happily married, and 
that I knew it was criminal to love a married man, and I loved 
no one but my family relations, and that I hated himself and the 
remainder of the world, and I was resolved to go home. At 
this moment he arose from his chair, looked fiercely at me, and 
said, 1 Where do you call home, you provoking wretch ? you 
have no home on the earth but mine, and I will not stand your 
taunts and insults longer.’ He came to me then, with a book 
in his hand, and gave me several very severe blows over my 

29 


338 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


head, saying to me, ‘I have humored you until you are a 
fool/ and again he put his hand on my shoulder and shoved 
me down on the ottoman. As I fell, I cried out, 1 For God’s 
sake, send me home !’ then he caught my long curls in his 
hand and jerked them several times, saying, 1 Where is your 
home but with me ?’ — Said I, 1 At Manville Hall ; there is 
my home, and there will I go. I was born there ; my child- 
hood’s blissful days were passed there ; the spirits of my father 
and mother haunt those evergreen bowers, and my aged grand- 
father is there/ He threatened to tie me, and drew out his 
pocket handkerchief and began to tie it around my wrist. I 
told him it would do no good ; that I would get away from him 
in spite of all his handkerchiefs ; and that if he put me into a 
cage like the Dives did the Peris, and hung me in the top of a 
tree, that I would still hate him. He then left the room, and 
sat down on the portico, and I got my bonnet, put on my 
gloves, and passed out of the front door. 

“I intended to walk by Mr. Wordings, in order that he 
might see me go off ; for, notwithstanding he had beaten me so 
unmercifully, I did not feel afraid of him, and I knew that he 
would not dare to make his negroes run after me, and there 
was not a white person on the premises but himself and me, 
and I knew also that I could outrun him, if he attempted to 
force me to remain. As I walked out of the portico, he called 
to me, saying, 1 Ella, where are you going V — ‘ ’Tis none of 
your business,’ said I. — ‘ Oh, Ella !’ he exclaimed, 1 don’t leave 
me ! don’t go away in that manner! let me have your wardrobe 
packed, and send you in my carriage, if you are determined to 
go.’ — ‘ I want nothing you have given me ; take all of that 
vain, doll-baby dressing you have wasted your money for, and 
do as you like with it. I will not have it; neither do I want 
your carriage, nor anything else : feet were made before car- 
riages,’ said I, tauntingly, and I paced off down the avenue of 
tea-roses and cape-jasmine. Mr. Wordings came upon the front 
steps, called me again, and begged that I would come back 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


339 


long enough to allow him to cut off, as he said, 1 one of jour 
rich auburn ringlets/—' Indeed/ said I, as I shut the great 
massive white gate, ‘if you desire some of my hair as a memo- 
rial, there lies a great bunch of it on the floor of the chamber! 
you pulled it out by the roots when you pushed me down on 
the ottoman. You may gather that from the floor, and it will 
serve to remind you of me, — that is, if you require a token, and 
more especially of my beautiful auburn hair/ I then ran 
along through the meadow, and across the bridge in front of 
the mansion of Avondale, and I did not look back, for I was 
too eager to get away. A new vista seemed to open to me, 
and I compared myself to the mouse, with which the cat toys; 
every now and then, he lets it go to see it run, then he grasps 
it within his paws, and again enjoys its capture. Sometimes, 
however, the little trembler outruns grimalkin, and regains her 
bed of leaves and liberty. I crossed his plantation, and as I 
sat foot upon the highway, I felt thankful that I had got out 
of his domain, and made haste to the house of a friend, who 
resided in the village near Avondale. My friend was Mrs. 
Amanda Dewan, a lady whose sympathy and kindness I cannot 
forget. I told her that a difficulty had taken place between Mr. 
Wordings and myself, and that I had left him, and was on my 
way to Manville Hall. She told me that I had better return 
to Avondale ; that as I had married Mr. Wordings, it was my 
duty to try to live with him. She deeply regretted that the 
affair had happened; but said if I was determined to go on, that 
she would furnish me with money and clothing for the journey. 
I told her that my intention at first was to remain at her house 
until I could write to Grandpa Manville to come himself, or 
send for me; but as Mr. Wordings had beat me over my head, 
then pushed me with such violence on the ottoman, and had 
pulled a handful of hair from my head, that I would be bound 
to make it known, and no matter who came for me from the 
Hall, they would certainly chastise Mr. Wordings for it. My 
mother had two brothers at that time at the Hall, and I was 


340 


LOUISE ELTON; 


careful, for I was afraid to arouse that Scotch blood, which an 
insult to me would have set boiling in their veins. I wanted 
neither shooting, killing, nor duels, on mj account. All I 
ardently desired was to reach the bosom of my family in safety. 
I told Mrs. Dewan that I regarded the life of Mr. Wordings 
enough to maintain silence to my uncles about the beating he 
had given me ; that if Uncle Arthur or Louis ever heard of 
it, that one of them would certainly shoot him, and that I 
wished her to tell Mr. Wordings, if he set any value on his 
life, never to let Arthur Manville or Louis see him. The next 
day, Mrs. Dewan packed a carpet-bag for me with clothing she 
loaned me, then she gave me sufficient means to carry me home, 
and at night I was forty miles distant from Avondale, and on 
my road to Manville Hall. 

u I arrived safely, after a wearisome journey, at the town, 
seven miles from grandpa’s; I put up at the principal hotel in the 
place, and stayed all night. The next morning I hired a car- 
riage, and was driven to Manville Hall. Grandpa said he knew 
that something more than common was the matter, as soon as 
he laid eyes upon me, and that he saw distress plainly stereo- 
typed upon my countenance. I at last summoned courage, and 
told him about my difficulties with Mr. Wordings, and my de- 
termination to live with him no longer. When I told him of 
the beating that Mr. Wordings had given me, he enjoined it 
upon me, not to hint that part of my story to Arthur, or Louis; 
for, said he, ( if you should, Wordings must either kill them, 
or they will kill him;’ just my own conclusions exactly, and I 
did not hint to my uncles that Mr. Wordings had either struck 
me, jerked my hair, or shoved me down on the ottoman. My 
good old grandfather, notwithstanding, gave me a cordial wel- 
come, and told me to make his house my home ; that he had made 
the same provision for me in his will which he intended making 
for my mother, and that Arthur had grown affluent by economy 
and industry, and Louis would be enriched by his own exertion 
also, and that he had willed to me my mother’s portion of his 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


341 


estate. When I arrived, Aunt Matilda was at the Hall, and 
Uncles Arthur and Louis were there too ; they all expressed 
themselves as being happy to see me. There was a lady re- 
siding in town at that time, Mrs. Percy, a widow, who had 
two grown children, Iona and Llewellyn, and as Grandpa Man- 
ville was the executor of Mr. Percy’s will, business as well as 
pleasure often brought Mrs. Percy, with Iona and Llewellyn, 
to Manville Hall. Iona being a stiff, dignified woman, and 
some years my senior, was not very desirable company for me; 
well, after awhile she was engaged to be married to Uncle Arthur, 
and ceased then to visit the Hall, and I was altogether without 
a companion except Uncle Louis, who made himself a kind of 
playmate for me. Aunt Matilda was all the time engaged with 
the domestic concerns of the family ; and Uncle Arthur went to 
the South once every year, to see about his negroes and cotton 
plantation. I now began to be a little tired with chasing the 
butterflies through the garden, and with catching the humble- 
bees in the cups of the hollyhocks and altheas. I remarked to 
grandpa, one day, that it would seem like a paradise to me, as 
it used to seem when we were little girls, if I only had Emily 
and Laviniawith me again at the Hall. That was sufficient: 
he immediately wrote to Uncle Manville, their father, to send 
them back to Manville Hall. Colonel Manville all his life 
has thought that whatever grandpa said was right ; indeed, he 
scarcely considers him capable of doing wrong; and therefore, 
asked no questions, but told Emily and Lavinia to prepare to 
go to Manville Hall immediately. The girls were perfectly 
delighted to return to a place so dear to them ; and we all 
scarcely believed that we were destined to meet once more, and 
be happy together. While they were on the way to the Hall, I 
seemed like the wanderer who has escaped some frightful abyss, 
or some dark water that lashed the mount on which he stood, 
who after awhile happens to gain a seat in some forest of sylvan 
enchantment; fori used to stand on the old balustrade on 
thQ summit of the Hall yonder, and watch the road to see 

29 * 


342 


LOUISE ELTON j 


Emily and Lavinia come in sight. It sometimes seemed as if 
our future life was to be passed in vales of music, in evergreen 
woodlands, in flowery meadows, where limpid streamlets perpet- 
ually wind their silvery waves ! I had the greatest confidence 
in Emily and Lavinia, and I loved Lavinia as fondly as Emily, 
but Emily was the elder sister, and we looked to her for ad- 
vice, and called upon her to decide all our matters. When we 
were in conversation one night relative to Mr. Wordings and 
myself, Emily said to me, 1 Ella, do you not intend to be di- 
vorced from that man V I replied that I had not thought of 
such a thing, nor did I know that I could obtain one. 1 Cer- 
tainly/ replied she, 1 you can be released from him by the 
Legislature, and it must be done. Pa sent you word by me to 
get divorced/ — ‘Very well/ said I, 1 we will consult grandpa 
and do whatever he tell us/ We accordingly had a conversation 
with grandpa the next morning, who did not oppose me in the 
measure at all, for he desired to see me finally separated from 
Mr. Wordings, although he was then penitent, and had addressed 
a letter to grandpa, begging of him to persuade me to return to 
him. Grandpa laid the letter aside, however, and made no reply 
to him at all, for he did not like Mr. Wordings, nor had he ever 
approved of my marriage to him. He showed me the letter he 
received from him, wherein Mr. Wordings begged grandpa to 
advise me to return to Avondale, and when handing it to me 
he remarked, 1 Ella, my child, you are the lawful wife of that 
man, and so far as money is concerned you never can marry a 
more wealthy personage upon the American continent ; but I 
do not admire him, for I do not like his moral character, and 
he is entirely too old for you to love ; but he has indeed made 
every apology to me and to yourself also, for his rude treatment 
to you, and promises you every cent of his fortune, should you 
return. You know what I am able to give you ; and that lam 
never happy now when you are out of my sight. Manville 
Hall is your home, and you are under the guardianship of Ar- 
thur, Louis, and myself. Still, if you have reconsidered the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


343 


matter, and have the slightest inclination to return to Avon- 
dale, I will not oppose you ; and as I had received the letter I 
have shown you from Mr. Wordings, I thought it nothing more 
than my duty to inform you of its contents, and advise you to 
think before you act ; but rest assured, I shall never advise you 
to return to him/ 

“ I told grandpa, that he was acquainted with the circum- 
stances under which I became the wife of Mr. Wordings, and 
that I had left him with the determination never to see him 
again ; that upon consulting Emily, I learned that it was pro- 
bable that I could obtain a divorce from Mr. Wordings, and 
that if he (grandpa), would have me liberated, that I would be 
satisfied and happy, I thought, during the remainder of my 
life. Grandpa bade me be tranquil, and said he would do 
everything in his power to render life pleasant to me ; and 
then I ran off to tell Emily and Lavinia what was the result 
of the conversation we had had. Accordingly, grandpa went 
the next day and arranged the matter with a couple of lawyers, 
who assured him that they would succeed in obtaining the divorce 
for me. When he returned, he informed us that he would soon 
have the ligature cut, by the laws of the land, which had so 
unjustly bound his dear child. He called me his child ever 
since I first came back to his house, and always treated me 
with the warmest affection. He complied with his promise, 
and the lawyers with theirs, for in a few months I received 
papers declaring that I was restored to the ‘ rights and pri- 
vileges of an unmarried woman/ My dear Emily was not yet 
satisfied, for she could not bear the ‘Wordings/ to my name. 
She persuaded grandpa to have my name changed, and as I 
had no children, I did not object to being called ‘ Miss/ once 
more. Emily then proposed that I should not take my maiden 
name again, but that I should be called Ivanora Manville. 
My grandfather had adopted me, and was highly pleased with 
Emily’s proposition, as one of the ancestral females of the 
Manville House in Scotland, had been called Lady Ivanora. 


344 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


A reviviscence of this lady’s name was truly gratifying to both 
families, at Manville Hall, as well as Green Haven, and it was 
not long then before I was metamorphosed from Mrs. Ella 
Wordings, to Miss Ivanora Manville. In a short time Man- 
ville Hall was a gay place. The old walls sent back the 
merry laugh and sentimental song, as if they were declaring 
that all things lively belonged to youth. Uncles Arthur and 
Louis were there, and so were Hr. Finlay and Llewellyn Percy. 
Lavinia and Llewellyn were engaged to be married, and Emily 
had a splendid beau, whose name was Eugenius Barrick, who 
was often on a visit at the Hall. I was visited by a gentleman of 
the name of Wallace Pitkins. He came with Uncle Arthur from 

the State of once, as he was returning to Manville Hall, 

and Mr. Pitkins soon became a regular visiter there. As grandpa 
disliked him very much, he one day told me that he had seen 
Pitkins drunk ; that he also saw that his attention was directed 
to me, and he begged me not to encourage his addresses. 
‘You know how I despise a coquette, Ivanora,’ he would say, 
‘ therefore indulge in no flirtation with him nor shall you 
ever marry him if I can prevent it.’ I assured him that I did 
not admire Mr. Pitkins at all, and had no idea of permitting 
him to address me. Grandpa was satisfied, as he usually was 
with what I told him, and thus the moments glided away.” 


CHAPTER L 1 1. 

“ Our earthly elysium, however, was destined to be shaded 
by sorrow, for Hr. Finlay now received letters from Col. Man- 
ville, telling him to hasten to Green Haven, that Waldegrave 
had fallen in Texas, at the storming of Fort Alamo, at San 
Antonio de Bexar, and that Aunt Fidelia’s health was hourly 
declining. I parted with Emily and Lavinia, and did not see 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


345 


them again till after the death of their mother, and the mar- 
riage of Colonel Manville to Mrs. Danetson, his present wife. 
When she came to Green Haven, there was an old frame house 
there, hut it was not fine enough for her. She was immensely 
wealthy, and is a woman who, all her life, has played upon a 
high key. The girls disliked her, and were mortified because 
their father married so soon after their mother’s decease. Hut 
the Colonel was going to do just as he pleased about marrying, 
and he did not ask the girls a single word. She soon began to 
have the old mansion pulled down, and as Lavinia’s health was 
very delicate, and the out buildings uncomfortable, she pre- 
vailed upon her pa to send her back to Manville Hall. She 
returned here, and Emily came with her. She improved after 
she got here, and our circle was again complete. Uncle Arthur 
and Dr. Finlay were here, and very soon Louis, with Llewellyn 
Percy, came home from the South, and in a few days, also, we 
heard that Wallace Pittkins had arrived in town, and was 
coming to the Hall to spend several days. Not one of us ad- 
mired Mr. Pitkins ; still, we had no particular cause to treat 
him disrespectfully, and after I assured Grandpa Manville 
that I had no idea of marrying him, or coquetting with him, 
that I only treated him as I would any stranger with whom I 
became acquainted, he was perfectly satisfied, and after that 
. conversation paid but little or no attention to Pitkins. Uncle 
Arthur did not like him much, neither did Dr. Finlay, and 
Louis despised him, still, not one of them could tell him to 
discontinue his visits to the Hall. He was of respectable pa- 
rentage, a lawyer by profession, and of some property ; but he 
was a conceited, vain, braggadocia \ be was noisy, and had a 
loud and very uncultivated voice, and used to worry everybody 
with politics, for he was uninformed in everything else ; and we 
all used to wonder that he could not see that he was considered 
an impostor, and that his visits were disagreeable to all of us. 
Still he would intrude himself into our circle, and made several 
efforts to make love to me. One evening, after tea, we were 


346 


LOUISE ELTON; 


all in the parlor, when Pitkins came and seated himself by me. 
He commenced a conversation of not a very delicate character. 
He asked me what I thought of intrigues. At first I did not 
understand him, and asked him for an explanation. He re- 
plied, ‘ As so many are present, I cannot now explain to you 
what I mean, and as I have something to tell you, I want you 
to promise to meet me in the bower to-night at twelve o’clock. 
I will leave here at ten, and go towards town ; I will stop at 
the tavern on the road, and remain there till eleven o’clock. I 
will then return here, and at twelve I shall expect you to come 
to the bower in the front yard, under the honeysuckle yonder; 
promise me that you will be there/ 

u I was so completely horrorstruck and wounded, that I left 
the room with tears streaming over my cheeks. As I went from 
the parlor, however, I saw the fire flash from Uncle Louis’s 
black eyes. He followed me, and as I was afraid he would go 
back into the parlor and kill Pitkins for his impertinence and 
villainy towards me, I shut the door of my chamber as I 
entered the room, and said to him, 1 There is nothing the 
matter, dear Louis, only I have suddenly taken a violent tooth- 
ache, and left the room because Mr. Pitkins kept plaguing me 
to sing for him/ I laid down on the sofa, and Louis went 
back to the parlor. Pitkins left immediately after I went 
from the room, for he saw that Louis took notice of me as I 
passed out, and that he also followed me. Pitkins thought, 
of course, that I would tell Louis what he had said to me, and 
to evade him on his return to the parlor, he had hurriedly 
said ‘ good-night’ to the company, and had gone away. Louis 
was not satisfied with his conduct, and believed that Pitkins 
said something that made me leave the room. He came im- 
mediately to the chamber where I was, and sat down close by 
me, and said, ‘ Ivanora, what is that fellow after here ? I 
neither like his looks nor his actions, for I believe he is a 
seductionist, and a vile scoundrel ; and, furthermore, I fear he 
is planning your ruin. “ A drunken man often speaks a sober 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


347 


man’s thoughts,” so says the old proverb, and a sober villain’s 
actions are sometimes louder than his words. I have heard 
of something that he has said about yourself when he was in 
one of his drunken sprees, and I intend to order him to leave 
this house if ever he should have the impudence to enter it 
again. I went to the parlor for that purpose just now, but 
the cowardly dog dodged me. I wanted to drive him off long 
ago, but Arthur and Walter said, “ Oh no; have no difficulty 
with him while he seems so peaceable.” But let him come 
here again, and I’ll order him out of Manville Hall to a cer- 
tainty. You have got no more toothache than I have. Pit- 
kins has said something to you, for I heard the word “ intrigue” 
used by him, and then something about twelve o’clock to-night. 
A man may impose upon you, but I am not to be told, I van ora, 
that I can be mistaken in such matters. It is my duty to call 
the scoundrel to account for any insult offered to you, as I am 
ready and anxious to die in any such cause. I now no longer 
will listen to the advice of Walter and Arthur. I cannot pass 
some things by so easily as they, believing that a shooting 
match would be published to my discredit and yours too, in 
all the scandalous chronicles of the age. I love to be prudent, 
especially when the reputation of one of the females of my 
family is involved, but I will not allow that fellow to visit 
here, when I have grounds for believing that his intentions 
are not virtuous. I do not consider him a proper associate 
for yourself, Emily, or Lavinia, and I intend to tell him to 
leave this house, should he come here again. If you hear 
that he has killed me, be satisfied that I have died defending 
the honor of Manville Hall.’ Louis then left me, and went 
into grandpa’s room, and I heard him say, 6 Father, where are 
my pistols V — ‘ I know nothing about them, my son,’ said 
grandpa ; 1 but tell me what is the matter, Louis ; why are you 
so agitated, and why do you inquire of me for your pistols V 
( Because,’ said Louis, ‘ that fellow Pitkins, who has been 
here to-night, has insulted Ivanora. I overheard something, 


348 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


and I am not mistaken. I followed her to the girls’ room, 
after Pitkins had said what I heard, but she will tell me 
nothing directly, — she is a chicken-hearted creature, and would 
rather bury an insult than for me to have a difficulty on her 
account. Arthur and Walter, too, have advised me to bear 
with Pitkins, believing that, after awhile, we will get clear of 
him on peaceable and silent terms ; but that is not my plan 
of settling such matters at all ; — Pitkins should be called to 
account for his impertinence here to-night, and for a remark 
he made a few days ago in town relative to Ivanora. It was 
told to me by young Winwood, who heard him. There is 
no mistake but his intentions are criminal ; that he has 
planned her ruin, and that he has assurance sufficient to per- 
severe in his designs. I would have called him to account 
yesterday, but Walter and Arthur said, “ Oh no, have no 
shooting, and do not order him from the Hall ; for, if you 
do, he will be angry, and say that his difficulty arose about 
Ivanora, and that she encouraged him to make advances to 
her, or he would not have done so, and if you succeed in 
chastising Pitkins, or you kill him, she is eventually to be 
the sufferer. You know what the tongue of the public will 
say, and perhaps he may kill you, for we have never seen him 
in public or private either without arms.” They made this 
kind of a speech to me, and have hidden my pistols. I was 
in hopes that you had them, father,’ continued Louis, 1 and 
that you would give them to me.’ Grandpa uttered many 
deep sighs, and tried to soothe Louis, and all I could learn 
was that he then consented for Louis to tell Pitkins that 
his visits must be discontinued to Manville Hall. I rejoiced, 
for I believed that what grandpa said had settled Louis, for I 
had a horrible idea at any one’s being killed, and more espe- 
cially on my account. I could not reconcile myself to it 
at all, for it was as repulsive to me as suicide, or any great 
crime, and I would rather have borne a dozen insults than to 
have had any one killed for me. After awhile, when Emily 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 349 

and Lavinia came to bed, Emily said, ‘Ivanora, what was the 
cause of your leaving the parlor, and of Pitkins' abrupt depar- 
ture V — ‘We all thought he acted very strangely/ said La- 
vinia, ‘ for Mr. Percy and I were on the portico, when he passed 
out of the Hall, and he brushed by us but did not speak, and 
then I heard Captain Barrick and Mr. Percy say something 
about his being a suspicious character; tell us what has hap- 
pened, cousin V I related to Emily and Lavinia what Pitkins 
had said to me, and my reason for leaving the parlor, and told 
them what had passed between Louis and myself, charging 
them not to tell Louis, for he was then agitated almost to 
distraction. The next morning, when we all met at break- 
fast, everything seemed to be settled, for Louis was at the table, 
quite calm and as sprightly as usual. I was greatly relieved, 
for I could not bear to think of a serious difficulty. After 
breakfast I went into the library, where Louis was, and told 
him not to leave home, but to stay at the Hall that day. He 
replied, ‘ I do not intend to leave here ; I expect that fellow 
Pitkins will be here this evening ; he comes here every after- 
noon, and when he left here last night, Arthur and Walter 
were at the stile, and he informed them that he would see 
them again very soon ; heTl be here this evening ; — he has 
designs on you, and he is not to be daunted by your tears 
and sudden departure last night. He has impudence sufficient 
to return here, and he will pursue you till I shoot him or he 
shoots me. Now, do not say a word, Ivanora ; my course is 
chalked out; I intend to meet him at the door if he comes 
again, and tell him to leave the premises, and never to come 
here again ; that his intentions are dishonorable at this Hall, 
and he must not come here/ To reason with Louis was use- 
less. I saw that his resolution was not to be shaken, so 
after awhile I left the library, and went to our chamber. We 
had no company during the morning, except Captain Barrick* 


* Afterwards promoted to Major Barrick. 
30 


350 


LOUISE ELTON; 


and Llewellyn Percy, but they seemed like relations, and we 
looked upon them almost as we looked upon Uncles Arthur 
and Louis, or Dr. Finlay. After dinner, as we were tired of 
confinement to the Hall, we concluded that we would go to an 
old fortune-teller who had lately moved close by Rocky Chapel. 
We took Rosetta with us, — the girl who is now Cousin Carrie’s 
waiting-maid. She was then quite young, or not grown. I 
think she was about fourteen years old. We told Aunt Matilda 
what we intended doing, and then ran off through the garden. 
We took a roundabout way, too, for we did not wish the gen- 
tlemen to know where we were going. When we got to the 
old woman’s cottage, she was sitting at the door, with her 
elbows resting on her knees. She did not look up, but said 
‘ Come in ; I heard ye coming all the way, and a curious sound 
your feet made, too.’ We walked timidly into the room, and 
sat down, for we were all frightened, and still we could not 
tell why. After muttering some curious words, the old woman 
said, 1 Now I must ogle ye,’ and then she looked at us with a 
pair of eyes that would have frightened old Satan. Presently 
she looked steadfastly at Emily, and said, ‘ You are the eldest, 
your sister is the prettiest,’ and, pointing to me, she remarked, 
1 that one is the sorriest.’ 

“ Turning to Emily she said, ‘ You will never marry, ’tis no 
use to turn the wheel for you ; for I see no husband written over 
you in the air.’ She took Lavinia’s hand and said, 1 Yours 
is a dark case, for I see a great animal about you, with a pair 
of shears, and he cuts mighty close to you ;’ then she clapped 
her hands and danced out into the adjoining room. Soon, 
however, she returned, and said to me, ‘ I told you that you 
are the sorriest, but not one . of you are going to have good 
luck in life, still yours is the worst. Do you wish to hear it V 
I replied, ( I do; and as we have come to you to tell us 
our fortunes, we will pay you what you charge us ; then we 
wish you to tell us a ghost story .’ — 1 Oh !’ she cried, < no 
story about it ; what I have to tell you is all true about the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 351 

ghost. I learn mj incantations from ghosts. They come from 
the peaks of the mountains over there, and at night I meet 
them yonder in the auld kirk-yard, where I sit on the grave- 
stones and they tell me everything. I saw that these girls 
were sisters, directly, hut you are not a sister ; still I see won- 
ders about you. I had just trimmed my dead-man’s candle 
when ye came, and heard ye running along; hut it’s no use to 
start the wheel of Fate for the sisters, for it stopped last night 
when I saw two pretty virgins try to make it spin.’ Said I, 
1 Will it spin for me ?’ — ‘ Oh, yes, child/ answered she. 
‘ I started it to work when I danced away from ye. It spins 
for you, and it will take a strong spool to hold your thread too, 
when it is wound up.’ — Then she went into the room where 
Fate, she said, was working for me. We were all astonished 
at the old creature ; yes, we were frightened, and afraid of her 
too, but ashamed to own it to one another. At length she 
came to the door and called me. She said, 1 The incanta- 
tion is finished, lady, come in.’ I went in, and saw a table 
! in the middle of the floor, covered with a great round paste- 
board ; upon it I also saw painted the sun, moon, stars, comets, 
men, women, children, birds, dogs, cats, swords, guns, musical 
instruments, trees, rivers, mountains, snakes, flames, and 
; clouds. The old woman blinded my eyes with a red kerchief, 
put four silver half dollars into my right hand, and directed 
me to throw them . — 1 Throw where V said I . — 1 Why, child,’ 

‘ upon your horoscope ; that is what has come oif of Fate’s 

wheel for you, now throw.’ — I flung the silver on the paste- 
j board ; and as she removed the cover from my eyes, she ex- 
j claimed, 1 Horrors ! horrors ! you were born of a dark day ; 

I there was a cloud over the sun then, and all of your stars had 
I a dark ring around them ; and there is one thing about the 

I color of the water in the rivers that I had better not tell you. 

You were born for sorrow, poor thing; still there is one chance 
I left for you. I will give you a vial of liquid, and when you 
j go home, get you a snow-white bowl and fill it with new milk 

' 


352 


LOUISE ELTON; 


from the cow, then set it at the foot of your bed, for troubles 
must go off at the feet ; and as the flying horse always comes 
over the horoscope when the bad genii darkens your stars, 
maybe he’ll carry off your heaviest trouble ; there’s no other 
hope for you. Take this vial, carry it between your finger and 
thumb of your right hand, walk backwards to the bowl and 
drop some into the milk, and all the time the drops are falling 
say — 


“ Come to me, hippogriff, come to this earth! 

And brighten the stars that grew black at my birth ; 

Kind fortune had meted much pleasure for me, 

But the three fatal Sisters reversed the decree. 

Good hippogriff, hippogriff, as the wine flows, 

Bear on your pinions my troubles and woes P 

11 We then left her cell, as she called it, and entered the room 
where Emily and Lavinia were, who, with Rosetta and myself, 
all moved close to the old woman to listen to the ghost story. 
‘I will tell it to you,’ said she, ‘just as it happened, for 
these eyes of mine saw it all.’ 

STORY OE THE GHOST. 

“ 1 Well, my husband had a friend once who was about to de- 
part this life. He sent for him to come and spend the night 
with him, as he thought it would be the last time they ever 
would meet in life. My husband went, according to the re- 
quest of the dying man, and left me at home at my usual 
employment, which was spinning on the “little wheel,” so com- 
mon then amongst us mountaineers. Shortly after the departure 
of my husband in walked the man who had sent for him to 
come and see him die. I accosted him in the usual manner, 
telling him that I had supposed him to be too ill to leave 
home ; but he made no reply. He then drew his chair near 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


353 


me, and seated himself. I felt a little curious, but did not 
attempt to escape, for you know that there is a charm about a 
ghost, and they so rivet one to the spot where they find them that 
one cannot move. I sat still, with my eyes fixed on the ghost, 
till my light burned out, then I took the distaff from my 
wheel, put it into the fire, and raised another light. Just as 
this burned out, the ghost suddenly arose, snatched my cap 
from my head, and made his escape, just as the day was break- 
ing. He placed my cap under his arm and away he ran. Not 
more than five minutes after the departure of the ghost, or the 
man I thought dying, my husband returned. I related all that 
had happened, and he exclaimed, “ Impossible ! for my friend 
expired about the time you say he ran off with your cap.” I 
persisted in what I said, for I knew what I had seen, and when 
my husband returned to the house of the dead man, to the 
astonishment of every one present, there was my cap under 
the arm of the corpse P 

u I never had the least confidence in the tales of fortune-tel- 
lers, in my life ; neither had Emily nor Lavinia, and we only 
went to hear her, as girls are wont to say, ‘ for fun and 
merely for a change. It was customary for persons of respect- 
ability to visit old Mrs. Haney, as well from town as the dis- 
tant neighborhoods, and we were not superstitious, and only 
elicited the ghost story for amusement; but, unfortunately? 
it grew late and cloudy before we left the cottage of the 
necromancer, and when we started to the Hall, the face of 
everything looked sad, and we were compelled to accelerate our 
pace, in order to reach home before dark. The tale had 
frightened Rosetta very much, and she often started and 
screamed at sounds she imagined she heard. We also had to 
pass in sight of the graveyard at Rocky Chapel; and Emily 
and Lavinia complained of being nervous, and said they felt as 
the Scotch people used to feel when they had to pass ‘Al- 
so* 


354 


LOUISE ELTON; 


lo way’s auld haunted Kirk;’* ‘Darrell’s Stile ;’f or the 
‘Banks of Garpal Water.’ J 

“ Said I, ‘ Emily, I really believe you are frightened V 
‘Not frightened, Ivanora,’ said she; ‘but as it is late and 
cloudy, and we are so near the graveyard, thinking of what old 
Mrs. Haney told us has made me nervous ; then Rosetta keeps 
screaming out, and startles me.’ We passed the old Chapel, and 
strange to say, not one of us had the courage to look over into 
the graveyard. Just as we began to cross the bridge, over the 
river near the Chapel, Emily repeated these lines from Walter 
Scott’s Rokeby : 

“ < Harper! methinks thy magic lays,’ 

Matilda said, ‘ can goblins raise !’ 

Well nigh my fancy can discern, 

Near the dark porch, a visage stern ; 

Even now in yonder shady nook 
I see it !” 

At that instant Lavinia shrieked wildly, and cried, ‘Good 
Heavens ! there is somebody on the bridge !’ The foolish 
negro screamed ‘ Tis a ghost ! Miss Emily, ’tis a ghost !’ 
The tall figure arose, and as it approached us, the whole party 
ran, and one screamed, ‘ A man ! a ghost ! a man !’ and 
another cried out ‘ A ghost ! a ghost ! it can be nothing else.’ 
Emily and Rosetta ran on to the Hall, while Lavinia ran about 
fifty yards from me and fainted. I like a lunatic recrossed the 
bridge and fell. They were looking eagerly for us at the Hall, 

*As these were genuine Scotch people, the natives of that delight- 
ful country will not fail to recognise their characteristics in the 
Manville family. The girls loved to compare the scene near Rocky 
Chapel with “ Alloway Kirk,” which is rendered so interesting in 
Burns’s “ Tam O’Shanter.” 

f For the history of “Darrell’s Stile,” see Walter Scott’s notes on 
the fifth canto of Rokeby, in the tradition of “ Littlecot Hall.” 

f “The banks of Garpal Water, is one of the few places in the west 
of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name 
of ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit.” — London edition 
of Burns’s poems, page 83, vol. 1st. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


855 


and when Emily ran into the house screaming, and Rosetta 
after her crying, 1 A ghost ! a ghost ! a man P it produced no lit- 
tle excitement. Emily had lost her shoes, and her hair wa3 
flying loosely all around her head and shoulders. * What is 
the matter, Emily ?’ said Doctor Finlay, as Emily fell exhausted 
into his arms. She could say nothing but ‘ Pitkins’ and ‘ the 
bridge !’ Doctor Finlay carried Emily to our room, left her in 
charge of Aunt Matilda, and then ran towards the bridge. 
When Louis saw Emily come screaming to the Hall, he darted 
off in the direction of the river. I had run across the bridge, 
and, off to one side, under some hawthorn and plum-trees 
which shade the river banks, I sat down. Pitkins came up to 
me, and assured me that we were all frightened for nothing, 
but that he had been to the Hall and Louis had ordered him 
off of the place ; that he intended to challenge him ; and 
that, in going along the main road, his surcingle had 
broken, and he had fallen in the road, and his horse had 
run off across the old field towards the bridge, and he had fol- 
lowed him to try and catch him. That he was sitting on the 
bridge pondering upon what he should do to insure a private 
interview with me, and that he had left a letter in the hands 
of one of the servants at the Hall, who promised to hand it to 
me. 

“I heard the sound of feet at that moment, and Louis crossed 
the bridge, and came towards Pitkins, with fury in his counte- 
nance. His nostrils were distended ; his long, raven hair was 
floating in the breeze, and fire was burning in his eyes. As he 
ran to Pitkins, he said, 1 Dastardly villain ! how came you here V 
Then Pitkins drew a long, glittering bowie-knife, and Louis 
drew his own. The conflict then commenced ; they cut and 
stabbed each other dreadfully. I heard the clank of their 
knives as they struck together, and I saw the streams of blood 
as they flowed from their bosoms. My courage, in that dread- 
ful moment, seemed to return to me, for I ran to them, caught 
hold of Louis, and begged him to stop ; but they were excited 


356 


LOUISE ELTON; 


beyond endurance, and the next instant Louis sank on his 
knees, and I saw that he was dying. I held his head on my 
bosom, and uttered wild screams. The next moment brought 
Uncle Arthur to the bloody scene, and Pitkins, not satisfied 
with having killed Louis, rushed at Uncle Arthur with his 
knife. Arthur, however, was unarmed, for he had not even a 
pocket-knife ; but being an expert boxer, he watched his time, 
and knocked the bloody knife from Pitkins’ hand, then doubled 
his fist, and struck him a severe blow on the face, which 
stretched him on the earth. Uncle Arthur’s vengeance was 
now aroused, for he gave Pitkins a kick on the head with the 
heel of his boot, and then came to the dying Louis. Llewellyn 
Percy, by this time, had come up, and so had poor old grandpa. 
Neither pen nor tongue can express the anguish of my heart at 
that moment. Grandpa knelt down, and said, ‘ My son, would 
to God that I could bid you die happy. I am afraid you have 
been cut off without preparing yourself to meet your God.’ 
Poor Louis ! he fixed his glassy eyes upon me, and his paleness 
rent my heart, for his blood was then dripping out ; still he 
was on his knees, and I held his lovely head. Dr. Finlay and 
Llewellyn supported his body, and the Doctor was trying his 
pulse. Louis, as he continued to gaze on me, exclaimed, in a 
faltering tone, ‘Yes! yes! Father, bid me be happy. Louis 
has performed the duty he owed to the orphan of thy house. 
That villain, who lies yonder, had planned her ruin. See the 
letter I took from the servant, into whose hands he had put it. 
Sylvester, the shepherd, had it. I locked it in my escritoire. 
Aunt Matilda has the keys. Father, rest assured that Louis 
is tranquil. Calm yourselves. My God will deal with me. 
I rely upon his merciful kindness.’ Then he hung his head 
again on my bosom, and breathed his last breath. Dr. Finlay 
then made an examination of Pitkins, and found that he, too, 
had gone to the spirit-world. Louis had stabbed him so 
severely before Uncle Arthur got there, that he could not have 
lived long, even if Uncle Arthur had not given him the blow with 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 357 

his boot-heel. The neighbors were then sent for, who came and 
took Pitkins to the little country tavern on the road, and buried 
him. There is a public burying-ground over there between the 
Chapel and the road, where they buried him, and where his 
friends, a few years ago, raised a monument over him. Louis 
was brought to the Hall, and laid out. Such a night of horror, 
Miss Elton, I hope never again to experience. Lavinia had 
fainted when she ran after Emily, and all night she had 
bleeding at the lungs. Dr. Finlay and Uncle Arthur thought 
she would die every hour, and we could hear the deep, sad 
murmur below stairs, as the people were placing Louis on his 
pall. I could also hear grandpa’s groans, which were deep and 
gloomy. I had sick-spells during the night, and so had Emily. 
I fervently prayed for death, and longed to be put into the 
coffin with Louis. Daylight, however, shone once more on this 
agonized Hall, and dried the blood of dear Louis on the stones 
by the river-bank. I have no language of sufficient strength 
and gloom to picture to you our distress. They got Pitkins’ 
criminal letter from the writing-case where dear Louis had put 
it. He intended to kill Pitkins, or try to do so, and produce 
that letter as evidence against the commonwealth, before the 
court, at his trial. It was written in a style highly indelicate, 
and of the most offensive character. Pitkins told me in the 
letter ‘ that I dared not expose it ; that if I should, the world 
would say that I had given him cause to approach me in that 
way, and that he never undertook an intrigue where perseve- 
rance had not insured him success ; that I was a divorced wo- 
man, and, of course, it would be politic in my friends and my- 
self to say as little about me, publicly, as possible, and that I 
must plan an interview with him ; that I could do so easily if 
I chose; and that, as he requested it, I must promise him that 
I would. That I must reply to his note the coming evening; 
send it to the tavern on the road; that he would be there to 
receive it ; and to tell the servant that he would pay him hand- 
somely for bringing my letter.’ 


358 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


“ We followed poor Louis to the grave in the old garden at 
Manville Hall. Lavinia got about again. Uncle Arthur had 
his trial, and was acquitted; and in a few weeks he married 
Miss Iona Percy.” — When Ivanora had proceeded thus far, I 
asked her if one of those handsome portraits was the likeness 
of Louis ? u It is,” said she," gazing on it, while the tears 
came down her sad cheeks; “ and you may wonder why I keep 
the portrait of old Mr. Wordings. It is because it is painted 
on the same canvass with my father, mother, and myself. 
Mr. Wordings had them painted directly after we were mar- 
ried, and I could not have the portrait of himself cut out 
of the frame, or a dark shade put over him, as it would injure 
the dress of my mother, and spoil the picture. You may com- 
pare my features now, Miss Elton, with those of the painting, 
and you will see that sorrow had made no deep inroads upon 
my heart at that time. My disappointment about Leon 
Edgmont was a trifle, compared with those horrors of after- 
life which have torn my heart. Do you now wonder, Miss 
Elton, that I faint when I see blood ? You recollect the day 
you bled poor old grandpa, how sick I was, and that I fainted, 
and was carried away from him ?” — “ I recollect it all,” said 
I; “ and now I know why your grandpa utters so many deep, 
sad, groans ; and why the wreath of red roses is often in the 
springtime seen upon one of the gravestones under the yew 
and cypress trees ; and why Dr. Finlay arose in the sleigh the 
morning he drove out with Miss Matilda and myself, when 
he looked over into the public burying-ground, and asked 
Matilda ‘ who erected that monument V I had no idea then, 
however, that such a bad man as Pitkins slept underneath the 
white stone, for I spoke to Dr. Finlay myself, and said that I 
had often made visits to the grave-yards about there, and had 
frequently noticed the monument, and that it had the name 
of Wallace Pitkins engraved upon it; and then I observed that 
the Doctor sun& into his seat looking sad, and was silent all 
the way back to Manville Hall. I thought but little of it, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 359 

however, as he had told me that there was not a tree, a 
stream, a hill, a mountain, or moss-grown stone about Man- 
ville Hall that did not awaken some tender cord of remem- 
brance within his heart, as he retraced his steps over scenes so 
dear to memory. I wondered, too, the morning on which 
Kate Manville was married, why Dr. Finlay gave Llewellyn 
Percy such an affectionate kiss, for it really was quite amusing 
to me to see two men kissing ; hut at that time I knew nothing 
of the intimacy that had existed between them, nor of the 
pleasures and sorrows which they had passed through together. 


CHAPTER L 1 1 1. 

“ The remainder of that summer,” resumed Ivanora, u and 
the autumn sped away. Manville Hall, during the time, was 
a place of weeping and gloom. Lavinia’s health became more 
and more precarious, and when Parson Macdonald returned 
from Scotland at the commencement of winter, he sounded her 
chest with the stethoscope, and told Dr. Finlay that mortal 
symptons had made their appearance. Lavinia and Emily 
were of the Roman Catholic communion, and so also was 
Julia. Colonel Manville himself is a Roman Catholic in 
belief. Grandpa Manville, Uncle Arthur, my mother, my 
father, and Aunt Ashmore, grandpa’s deceased sister, have 
adhered to the religious tenets of the Episcopal Church of 
England. Parson Macdonald, Aunts Matilda and Emily 
(Mrs. Newland), belong to the Covenanters. They adhere to 
the Kirk of Scotland. They have adopted the Westminster 
Confession as their standard of faith, and they study the larger 
and shorter catechisms, which contain the public and avowed 
doctrines of the Kirk of Scotland, to which grandpa could not 
subscribe, on account of these formularies being Calvinistic. 


360 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


Lavinia, however, requested that a Catholic priest should be 
sent for. Grandpa, of course, gratified her, and one was 
brought in a few days. We called him Father Eventius. He 
stayed a week at Manville Hall, and advised Hr. Finlay 
to carry Lavinia to Cuba. As Father Eventius was a man 
of learning, age, and experience, Lavinia had confidence in 
his judgment. She had a great inclination, to be moved 
about, as persons naturally have, more particularly, however, 
when mortality assumes its determinate form. Hr. Finlay 
and Aunt Matilda went with her to Green Haven, but she 
grew so much worse after she reached home, that she was 
unable to leave before the spring of the year. She remained 
at home from January till March, worried almost to death with 
her stepmother’s behavior towards Julia, Kate, Lizette, Ada, 
and Edwin. Her father, also, was putting up those spacious 
buildings at Green Haven, and the noise and confusion almost 
made Lavinia crazy. Besides, she wanted to have her priest 
with her, to prepare her in case she died at home, and Mrs. 
Manville, her stepmother, declared that one should not come 
on the place. 

“ Lavinia was still anxious to travel, for she had a notion that 
the air of Cuba would restore her, and Hr. Finlay determined 
to carry her away from Green Haven. Accordingly, he re- 
turned to Manville Hall for Emily, who was then in delicate 
health herself, having suffered with a cough and pain in her side 
during the latter part of the winter. I was ready to accom- 
pany the girls, and grandpa was willing for me to go, for he 
did not like to see us separated, and he believed that, after I 
had suffered so much about Louis, that a trip to Cuba would be 
of service to me too, and that travelling would serve to take 
my attention from so many heart-rending scenes. I was of 
course pained at the idea of leaving grandpa, but he bade 
me go on, and said that half of his life had passed away with 
the shadows of solitude, and that Parson Macdonald would 
remain with him, and Mr. and Mrs. Falkirk, the inmates 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 361 

of this cottage, would move to the Hall; and his plantation 
and other outdoor business, would afford him employment. 
Uncle Arthur had moved to his plantation in the South, with his 
wife, and had settled there. Aunt Matilda was going from 
Green Haven, after we started with Lavinia to Cuba, to visit 
Aunt Emily Newland, who then resided in the neighborhood 
of Uncle Arthur, and was a widow at that time. Mr. Newland 
had been dead about four years. In a few days, we left Man- 
ville Hall, and Hr. Finlay prevailed upon grandpa to go to 
Green Haven with us, as Lavinia wished to see him before she 
started, and the Doctor told him that a little relaxation would 
be of service to him, too ; so grandpa accordingly went with us 
to Green Haven. We left there, the morning after our arrival, 

and went to the city of , where we embarked aboard the 

Sea Bird, and soon bade adieu to our native land. After 
we recovered from the savage attack the sea usually makes 
upon the head and stomach, we sailed in triumph over the calm 
deep waters of the ocean. Although we were upon the dark 
blue waves, yet there was something soothing in their appear- 
ance, as well as in the rocking of the ship. It seemed to 
me to be a picture of death, and we, like spirits who had 
left the sorrowful world, were gliding over the mysterious 
ocean of eternity, without wishing to cast a look at the world 
behind them, save to beg of those loved ones*on the shore to 
hasten away from the turmoil of life. I felt as if I was severed 
from the sorrows of the land, and that the beautiful, yet dan- 
gerous sea, afforded me an interval of tranquillity which I had 
concluded would never be mine again. My mind, which had 
been so severely tossed upon the tempestuous ocean of misfor- 
tune and sorrow, now sunk quietly to sleep. I told Emily and 
Lavinia that the millennium had certainly broken over the 
waves, as peace seemed to glide down as if she came from hea- 
ven. They agreed with me, for Lavinia said she felt as if we 
were steering from the hills of some cold and barbarous planet, 
where the inhabitants dwell in palaces of ice, and sleep upon 

01 

ol 


362 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


hammocks swung in the Arctic winds ; and rove in bowers of 
icicles, where the flowers are formed of the drifted snow-flakes ! 
The soft and genial gales which fanned our wandering edifice, 
the waves, the dolphins, the great monsters of the deep, the 
sailors, and at night when the clouds were too thick for the 
moon and stars to give their brilliant beams, the fire of St. 
Elmo’s* spirit which gathers around the top-mast, together 
with our own reflections relative to those beloved ones whom 
we had left weeping and praying for us, upon the shores of our 
native land, were themes with which we refreshed our minds 
and hearts, during our meditative moments on the waves, till 
the polarity of the magnet informed us that we were sailing 
downwards ! downwards ! and then, in a short time this reverie 
was broken, for the fifty thousand square miles of land which 
compose the Cuban Isle, loomed majestically from the rolling 
waters, and in a few hours we were walking again over the 
broad green earth. 

“ As we rode into the elegant harbor of Havana, poor Lavinia 
exclaimed, ‘What a magnificent and opulent city! 0, Uncle 
Doctor, do you not think we may find something here that 
will cure me !’ We were soon safely landed and conducted to 
a hotel, where we arranged our apartments as we chose, and in 
ten days Lavinia was better. She improved so much, that she 
could exercise uptm the corridors and balconies, which surrounded 
the hotel. If I were to attempt to describe the excitement and 
bustle of a Spanish city, I could not make it interesting to you, 
but we formed many acquaintances amongst the Spaniards, 

* St. Elmo’s light is a luminous meteor, which is often seen about 
the mast-head of vessels. It is more common in warm climates, and 
has been considered an electrical phenomenon, though it is never 
known to produce any of the disastrous effects of lightning. When 
it is confined to the top-mast, it is considered an omen of boisterous 
weather. When it steals down the mast, the sailors regard it very 
carefully, and get ready for a storm, more or less disastrous, accord- 
ing to the distance the light seems to venture down the mast. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 363 

who, when they heard that we were American girls, were as 
eager to see us as we were to see them. Their rich, sunny 
complexion and raven hair, made them personally interesting 
to us ; then there was a softness and ease in their manners, that 
made them fit for social intercourse. Before I visited Cuba, I 
had learned to think the Spaniards were all a bloodthirsty and 
cruel kind of people ; that they were not interesting, and hardly 
possessed the qualifications calculated to inspire them with 
human feeling. I found that I was mistaken, and that they 
are warm in their temperament, and love one another dearly. 
Their kindness and hospitality to strangers, also, know no limit. 
Many of the girls of the royal family of Spain, who were so- 
journing in Havana, and the descendants of the nobility of Old 
Castile, Andalusia, and Valencia, would come to inquire about 
Lavinia, and offer their services to wait upon her, just like our 
American women. They are the most revengeful people in the 
world, however, if they think you come amongst them as an 
invader; but when you seek their clime for health, or you wish 
to revel in their luxuriant bowers of pleasure, they receive you 
with bright smiles and warm caresses. We saw many French 
people on the island, and, notwithstanding my admiration of 
them, I somehow liked the Spaniards most. A Frenchman is 
volatile, polite, and fanciful; he glories in excitement, and 
when under the influence of passion, will shed blood because 
he loves to see it flow. Their nation gave a specimen of what 
an excited people will do, in the days of Marie Antoinette, and 
of Bobespierre. The Spaniard will kill you to get you out of 
his way, and then he is done ; he does not seek to shed your 
blood, unless you turn traitor, or become an intriguer with a 
a rebel to his government. We were constantly going to 
our windows to look at the crowds which thronged the streets. 
One hour the hot sun would pour down his beams, and, the 
next, perhaps, the rain would be rushing in streams and sheets. 
I thought I had seen some hard rains in the United States, but 
they were not to be compared with the rivers which flowed from 


364 


LOUISE ELTON; 


the Cuban clouds. We experienced the fury of the hurricane, 
and heard the thunder roll its aerial ordnance above our 
heads. We saw flames of lightning dart into our chamber, and 
expected every moment the earth to tremble underneath us. 
As we were driven by the domains of the opulent planter, we 
regaled our senses upon the sugar cane, cotton, tobacco, indigo, 
and rice, growing in large fields. We saw groves of ancient 
orange trees, also those of lemon, fig, pomegranate and lime. 
We saw coffee growing in great abundance, as well as ginger, 
pimento, cocoa, and pine-apple. The sea-breeze refreshed us, 
and many a time beneath the dark, green orange trees, were 
we exhilarated with the cooling juice of the lemon or the lime. 
The scenery was charming ; yes, everything was gay, blooming, 
and sunshiny, and we often made our postilion stop his horses, 
and allow us time to alight from the chaise to examine the 
mahogany, the lignumvitae, and grand old cedar trees, where 
the mimetic parrots, and other gorgeously-plumaged birds, 
sung and chattered all day. One afternoon, as Emily and I 
were promenading about our balcony, our ears were greeted 
with the sound of our native tongue, for we heard two gentle- 
men conversing on the corridor below us. You have no idea 
how sweetly our language sounded to us, as we expected at all 
times to hear the grave voice of the Spaniard, or the light and 
rapid flow of the Frenchman’s idiom. These gentlemen, how- 
ever, were conversing in our own beautiful vernacular. We 
paused to listen, and the stranger’s voice, which attracted us, 
was rich and musical, yet manly. It appeared, too, that he 
had been on a tour to England, France, and Spain. That he 
had not been in the United States for five years. He was con- 
versing with Hr. Finlay relative to our national literature, and 
as he compared it with the literature of England, Doctor Fin- 
lay asked him what reputation our literature then had abroad, 
especially in England ? He replied, ‘ Some of our American 
authors, both male and female, have a high reputation in 
England, but they are very few, very few indeed ; that the 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


365 


reason our national literature was so often lacerated by the 
critics of the Old World, is not because the mind of our people 
is not so fertile and susceptible as the intellect of the people of 
England, but simply because the writers of America are gene- 
rally in too great a hurry. They will not take time to lay a 
solid foundation, by familiarizing themselves with the sciences, 
consequently they are not sufficiently educated to sustain what 
is termed ‘ national literature/ 

“‘A vast number of our authors are wholly unacquainted 
with the beauty and utility of the sciences ; therefore, they are 
precocious; for they read romance and poetry, and attempt 
to navigate the broad ocean of the imagination with no more 
than such poor and uncertain ballast. If they had im- 
proved themselves first by a study of the sciences, they might 
soar and sustain themselves; but where there is so little 
trouble taken to cultivate the mind, of course its productions 
will be like the weeds that grow spontaneously in the field. I 
regard a green-house, filled with naturalized exotics, with far 
less interest than I do a well-cultivated garden, where the 
housewife attends to the cultivation of the indigenous plants. 
And it is also a great pity that our newspaper editors, and 
those who control our magazines, should permit so much ille- 
gitimate mental offspring to go abroad. It is true that every 
one in our country has the right to be an author. I recollect 
a genuine republican motto, “The free communication of 
thought and opinion is one of the invaluable rights of man.’' 
Politically, this is right. It is entirely consistent with the 
genius of a republican government, “ that all measures, rela- 
tive to public interest, should be fully and freely discussed. 
These discussions serve to enlighten the public mind, and pre- 
vent the adoption of measures dangerous to their liberties.” 
Still, it must be conceded by every one who understands the 
principles of literature, that the many writers we have, are not 
the proper persons to be registered as national literary standards. 
I had many arguments, in England, upon this subject, and I 

31 * 


366 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


was proud to learn that the literary people of that country ap- 
preciate and admire our Timothy Dwight, Channing, Irving, 
Bancroft, Sparks, Everett, Marshall, Kent, Story, Waylaud, 
John Quincy Adams, Talmadge, Randolph, Clay, Webster, 
Halleck, Dana, C. Brockden Brown, Dennie, Olmsted, Noah 
Webster, Chalmers, Dr. Bowdich, Mrs. Hentz, Miss Leslie, 
Mrs. Sigourney, Edwards, and many others. These people are 
our national property ; they are the gems in our literary dia- 
dem, and they sparkle therein, because they have been polished 
by that skilful lapidist, education. Notwithstanding, sir, our 
authors, many of them, are called plagiarists, and this is why I 
deeply lament that our press is so greatly abused. We all 
have the right guaranteed to us to become authors ; but we 
have not the right to plagiarise, no more than I have the right 
to put my hand into your purse and steal your money, be- 
cause I am too lazy to toil for wealth, and its glitter is so 
fascinating, and it takes a man a great while to accumulate a 
vast sum of money, more especially, too, if he is compelled to 
get his earnings by the sweat of his brow, or the hard labor 
of his brain. You have worked for it : it is your own. Then 
many, alas ! too many, like the thief, become enamored of the 
beauty and richness of the name of an author, who then resort 
to unfair means to appear intellectually wealthy. The walls of 
a castle, like Sing Sing, many a time check the midnight ad- 
venturer; but, candidly, my dear sir, I do not think that if 
I were to turn highwayman to-morrow morning, that the 
gray, massive walls of a State prison, or its dark and gloomy 
towers, would be as repulsive to me as those council-boards, 
in the chambers of literature and science, of the British 
dominions, as well as of France and Germany. Those Argus- 
eyed reviewers are the keepers ; they are also a set of accom- 
plished literary and scientific spies ; for not one word of which 
they get hold of as coming from America, that they do not quar- 
ter and gibbet before they let it go, especially if they have the 
slightest suspicion that the writer is uneducated. They search 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 867 

them from the cravat to the boot, and if they discover anything 
about them that has been plagiarised, they just skin them alive. 
They have the instruments to do it, too ; for being thoroughly 
educated, they know exactly how to act, and I tell you, sir, 
their mental weapons are sharp and truly frightful. And they 
will tell you they can detect stolen literature by the develop- 
ments in one’s book, just as easily as the phrenologist points 
out the organs upon the head of a thief. But, sir, there is, 
unfortunately, something so charming in the wiles of genius, 
that the virginal intellect is often led astray, and is, many a 
time, seduced by his bewitching blandishments; for he seems 
to argue with the spotless mind, like the artful seductionist, 
who would lead the unwary aside from the highroad of virtue, 
who are sometimes, unfortunately, persuaded from the known 
and safer track, and are, perhaps, lulled by the promises of en- 
chantment, till some dire calamity befall them. I have seen 
much of what is forced upon the public eye hissed down in 
England, for appearing in the stolen or borrowed robes, with 
which some of our authors were attempting to conceal that de- 
formity with which the wily and fascinating old genius had 
impregnated them.’ — Emily and I left him conversing with 
Dr. Finlay relative to his transatlantic perambulations, felici- 
tating ourselves, too, upon the fact that we never had written 
anything. I remarked to Emily that I believed, since the 
stranger had suggested the idea, that I would feel as deeply 
mortified to be arraigned before the courts of our country, and 
tried for stealing, as to be accused before the literary peer- 
age of any country in the world. There was, however, an un- 
accountable anxiety within me to see the gentleman to whom 
we had been listening. I mentioned to Emily that I really 
believed I had fallen in love with the stranger’s voice; then 
remarked I, ‘ He seems to be uncommonly intelligent; there 
is something masterly in his style of conversation ; do you not 
think so V — ‘ 0, yes/ replied Emily ; 1 but why are you in such 
a flutter, Ivanora? ’Tis strange that a man’s voice should 


368 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


affect you so seriously. I have heard you declare that no voice 
ever vibrated upon your heartstrings since Leon Edgmont’s 
day. Perhaps it is he, who has been travelling, and has acci- 
dentally met Uncle Doctor, who has told him that you are here; 
hut you shall soon know who he is, for I will ring for Uncle 
Doctor to come, and I will ask him/ 

“ Emily accordingly pulled the hell-rope, and in a few moments 
Dr. Finlay was at her side. Said I, impatiently, ‘ Doctor, who 
was that gentleman with whom you were conversing awhile 
ago, upon the lower corridor ?’ — ‘It is a gentleman of the city 

of / replied he, ‘ he is going home after a tour of five 

years in Europe. He is directly from Spain, and designs 
spending some time in Havana, as business has called him 
here ; then he will embark for Mobile, and go home. He pro- 
poses to call upon you and Emily to-morrow morning, as he is 
anxious to be in company with American ladies again, for, 
generally speaking, he considers them superior to all others/ 
— ‘ It will be well enough for him to call upon Ivanora/ said 
Emily, “ for I really believe she has fallen in love with him, 
although she has not had a look at him. His conversation has 
charmed her; and I believe it is Leon Edgmont, for I do not 
think the voice of any other gentleman could agitate Ivanora so 
much. What kind of a looking man is he, Uncle Doctor ?’ — 
1 Handsome, intelligent, rich, and religious/ replied Dr. Finlay, 
1 and going home to settle himself and then marry. Ivanora, you 
are the very woman who will suit him. He is just the right 
age for you, and you will doubtless at once lead him “ to the 
cells of captivity.” I will introduce him to you, girls, to- 
morrow. Ivanora, be ready and look your prettiest ; His of no 
use, Emily, to tell you to “ set your cap,” for you know I have 
promised to let Barrick have you, provided your health shall 
improve; but as Ivanora’ s affections are disengaged, she is 
the girl/— ‘ Do you know anything/ said Emily, ‘ of this gen- 
tleman’s parentage or family, Uncle Doctor? Perhaps he is a 
second Pitkins ; and you know that Uncle Charles would never 


OR; TniNGS SEEN AND HEARD. 369 

forgive you, were you to introduce any one to Ivanora who 
might in all probability be another impostor / — ‘ True, true, my 
dear/ said Dr. Finlay, 1 but recollect that your Uncle Doctor 
has studied human nature; then I am a freemason, and this 
gentleman “ wears badges of that grand design,” with which 
none are acquainted but the true “ sons of light.” I am exceed- 
ingly careful with Ivanora; and I have no hesitation in pro- 
nouncing this man a gentleman. I thank you, however, my 
dear Emily, for your kind and very considerate remarks/ The 
next morning while I was dressing to see this stranger, I was 
agitated, and why, I could not tell. I sometimes thought it 
was because Emily persisted in her belief that it was Leon Edg- 
I mont. I had, however, heard not a word of Leon for years, 
therefore I knew nothing of his movements, for I never had, 

| up to that time inquired about him. I tried to forget him 
and had almost succeeded. I said to Emily, that ‘ if Leon was 
a widower, and had been on such a long excursion, I knew 
nothing of it ; and/ continued I, 1 how can he be Leon, when Dr. 

Finlay said his home was in the city of V — 1 Ah !' said 

Emily, 1 1 expect Uncle Doctor has only said that to annoy you 
a little ; you recollect he evaded telling us the stranger's name V 
— After Emily and I were done making our toilet, we in- 
formed Dr. Finlay that we were prepared to see company. Pre- 
sently he tapped at our door, and in a few minutes Emily and 
I entered the parlor. We were then introduced to a gentleman 
of the name of Dunmore ; and I all the while trembled like a 
simpleton ; I almost tottered. I was so confused that I blushed 
and appeared very awkward. I do not think I should have 
been so much agitated, had Emily not induced me to believe 
that I was more than likely to meet Leon'Edgmont. Dr. Fin- 
lay also noticed my confusion, and said something to me to 
compose me. The Doctor, however, believed that my agita- 
tion was produced by love at first sight. He often laughed at 
me, and said he never saw Cupid shoot with a rest before; that 
the artful god of love seemed to regain his eyesight at the mo- 


870 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


ment I entered the room, and that he took deliberate aim, and 
one of his keenest arrows pierced my heart ; he declared that 
he saw the weapon when it struck me, and the ambitious little 
god, unsatisfied with slaying one heart, quickly turned himself 
around, and, he said, he saw the glitter of another arrow, which 
was darted at Mr. Dunmore. After Emily and I were intro- 
duced to the gentleman, we sat down and listened with rapture 
to his conversation ; I thought of nothing but the gentle murmur 
of clear sweet waters, which flow from a copious, and lucid 
fountain, as I heard his charming voice. He continued to call 
upon us, and I daily became more and more fascinated with him, 
till I found my heart bound completely by the rosy chain of love. 
He too loved with the same devotion ; but I idolized him ! Yes, 
I sinfully adored him ! And, my dear good, Louise, as I have 
gone thus far, I must tell you all : he has forsaken me ! He is 
now a wanderer on a foreign shore, seeking for something that 
may divert his mind from me ! He seeks the fabled draught 
of Lethe, hoping that in its waves of forgetfulness, my name 
and image may be borne away from him. So, dry your tears 
and shed no more for me, for I believe that when you have 
heard my story through, you will say I have done right in hid- 
ing myself behind these mountains ; and I believe you then will 
not wonder at my melancholy and gloom, nor deem me a curious 
woman, for weeping so bitterly when I gaze on the picture there, 
that hangs against the wall. That is the portrait of Mr. Clif- 
ford Dunmore, the father of my beautiful Louis. 

“We spent nine weeks together, after I became acquainted 
with him, in Havana. Every day, yes, every hour, when in 
his society, I discovered some beautiful treasure in his mind 
that was truly lovely and of great value. One day while we 
were driving out, he asked me if I loved to travel ? Upon my 
replying in the affirmative, he told me that he had travelled 
a great deal in Europe, but that, after we were married, he 
intended carrying me to Italy ; that we there would inspect the 
grand old ruins over which Oswald and Corinne, once, are said 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. • 371 

to have roamed ; that he would show me Mount BlaDc, and 
the exuberant valleys of Piedmont; that we would raise the old 
gray stones that have fallen over the graves of the ancient orators 
and poets. f I will travel with you through the time-honored 
| temples and palaces of Greece, and listen to your remarks 
upon those crumbling altars and ivy-covered towers. I will 
hear your observations upon the modern, uninformed inhabitants 
who now range over the same ground that a Socrates and Plato 
once trod. I will carry you to Jerusalem, and over the con- 
secrated mountains. We will see Mount Hermon rising in 
sublimity, and stand upon the banks of the Jordan. A little 
farther from Hermon, your beautiful eyes shall see Mount Le- 
banon, embowered with dark-green cedar trees; yes, those vene- 
rable old trees that have withstood the storms of so many cen- 
turies, the same, perhaps, that King David looked upon when 
he drew this beautiful comparison, “The righteous shall 
flourish like the palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon.” 
We will go beyond this dark monument of shade to Mount 
Tabor, where the Saviour was transfigured, that steep, wild 
mountain, which is only familiar with the stars, and the sun, 
and moon, that rise over its peaks, and illumine its mystic 
summits. We will not forget Mount Carmel, where old Elijah’s 
heart was awakened by the solitary grandeur of the mountain ; 
where he chose a sanctuary in this wild domain of Nature, to 
pour forth with ardor the devotion of his soul to God. We 
will visit Mount Gerizim, and ramble amongst the ruined tem- 
ples of the Samaritans ; yes, we will see its fallen pillars and 
moss-covered sepulchres, and our sacred reflections will be un- 
broken until we reach Mount Gilboa, and there will we create 
anew in our mind the solemn scene when Saul and Jonathan 
died ; also, the melancholy lamentation of David at their sad 
fate, when the Amalekite handed him the bracelet of the slain 
king. When the perfumed gales come over the mountains, we 
will be on a pilgrimage from Gilboa to another old pile which 
grazes the blue heavens with its majestic turrets ; we will listen 


372 


LOUISE ELTON; 


to the moving wind as it breathes over its antiquated pinnacles, 
and look at the first rosy clouds of the dawn that blush over 
its gray-grown rocks. This is Mount Hor. Then will we see 
Abanin, and the mountain at a little distance overhung with 
dark pine trees, where the soft, delicious dews fall, and where 
the inspissated juice issues from the leaves of the balsam tree 
which is known as the “balm of Gilead.” We will go to that 
mountain, too, that lifts its head to the clouds ; that so often 
sends the small, fresh showers, which perpetuate the verdure 
of the evergreens that wave over its lofty ramparts. We will 
see the mist collect in sparkling drops on the green leaves, 
while the atmosphere we inhale will come loaded with soft fra- 
grance, and the moon will tinge the scene with her silvery 
beams. We will visit that long-deserted spot on this same 
mountain, where one once stood, who said, “ My doctrine shall 
drop as the rain ; my speech shall distil as the dew, as the 
small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the 
grass.” It was the tongue of eloquent old Moses which uttered 
those words, and this mountain is Nebo. We will then see 
Mount Pisgah from Nebo, where Moses stood and viewed the 
Promised Land. How many poetic themes we will enjoy, and 
where is a mind so capable of enjoying and appreciating, as 
that of my Ivanora ! Nor will we slight the Mount of Olives, 
where Christ sunk in thought, perhaps, at the frailty of human 
nature; and perhaps, his eye saw through eighteen hundred 
years, and his breast was agitated at the commotion and wicked- 
ness which he foresaw would befall the institution he intended 
establishing upon the earth. Ah ! no wonder he groaned, if 
he foresaw that host of impostors headed by a Pharaoh, a Nebu- 
chadnezzar, an Antiochus Epiphanes, or a Mahomet, who 
were to enter the fold of God and tear the lambs, and slay the 
sheep and shepherds. Then the thought that one of the chosen 
band should betray him ! How repulsive and heart-sickening? 
You shall see Calvary too, for that is where our Saviour 
wore the crown of thorns ; and where they offered him wine 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 373 

mingled with myrrh. None of the consecrated mountains is so 
interesting as Calvary; none calculated to inspire one with so 
many serious and solemn reflections. The dust on this monu- 
ment of Nature was once moistened with the blood of the Son 
of God. He groaned above its rocks. The trees that clustered 
upon its rugged sides then, waved in solemn silence as He 
died ! The wild flowers, no doubt, hung their heads as if they 
were mourning, when the shadows of darkness were spread over 
the scene, “from the sixth to the ninth hour.” We will go 
to Mount Sinai, too, and reproduce in our imagination, the 
astonished group who came out of the camp to meet God, when 
Moses called them; and will there think of the terror of that 
mystic band, when Sinai quaked, and all was enveloped in 
smoke, and God himself appeared in fire/ 

“ He spoke in this strain, my dear friend, for at least two 
hours. He anticipated a trip with me to every place of noto- 
riety in the world. He poured into my heart the story of his 
love ! He said he adored me; not as he adored his God, but 
with an earthly adoration ; that admiration, esteem, and love 
were words of too small import to express his regard for me. 

He extolled my intellectual attainments ; eulogised my perso- 
nal appearance, and declared that my manners and behavior had 
woven a charm over him, and he felt as if Heaven had made 
me to J^e his wife ! Thus he %ooed and won me. I con- 
cluded that my earliest days had brought on me my darkest 
trouble. I felt like the person who has had all those infectious 
diseases attendant upon young people or children, and who in 
after life ventures with confidence into an apartment where 
disease is most violent in its ravages. I dreamed that my 
shades had all vanished ; that the genial gales of the island • 
had borne away all my sorrows on their fairylike pinions, 
and had lost them in the unfathomable waves of the deep wide 
sea ! The clouds of my life were now all gone, and in a mild 
sunshine I saw that state of felicity for which my honest heart 
so long had yearned ! I believed then that I was to slumber 

32 


374 


LOUISE ELTON $ 


in dells of pleasure, and I thought that I would dance over 
meads of flowers ! I saw "bowers of everblooming roses and 
jasmine, wherein I was to recline, and I heard the musical 
dripping of silvery cascades, that gently wept over green hills 
and fell into deep fountains, carved in pearl-like stones. So 
soon as I consented to marry Mr. Dunmore, I informed Dr. 
Finlay and Emily of what I had done. All three of us then 
wrote to Grandpa Manville, and informed him of everything 
we deemed it necessary he should know upon the subject. 
From the first moment that Mr. Dunmore addressed me, I felt 
uneasy and unsettled in mind, as regarded my former life. I 
sometimes thought I ought to tell him that I had been mar- 
ried, and was divorced, and that I bore the name of my grand- 
father instead of that of my own parent; for I felt assured 
that he never dreamed of such a thing as my having been mar- 
ried. I was introduced to him as Miss Manville, and the 
character and name of my grandfather were familiar to him, 
although they were to each other strangers personally. I said 
to myself one day, when I was meditating upon this matter, 
1 Mr. Dunmore, I discover, is strictly religious; he is conscien- 
tious, I know, and may he not have scruples about divorces, 
that would interfere with our marriage V I replied to my con- 
science in this way, and as I felt satisfied with my conclusion, 
I thought no more upon the object : ‘I was not the author of 
my unfortunate marriage with Mr. Wordings, and became so 
miserable with him that I ran away from him. In separating 
as I did from him, I made my condition in life happier, with 
the exception of the death of my poor Louis. Had he, dear 
fellow, taken my advice he might have lived, and although he 
» died because he believed that he ought to hazard his life to chas- 
tise a vile man, who had wicked intentions towards me, I did 
not think that I could reproach myself with his death. I be- 
lieved that I was capable of rendering my husband happy. I 
never thought of Leon Edgmont, because I had drawn a 
dark veil over my early affection for him. He was then mar- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 375 

ried and had a family of children around him, and a wife who 
loved him devotedly. I was religiously inclined, for I regarded 
the laws of man, and feared to transgress the laws of Grod. I 
knew that I never had an intrigue in my life ; that I would be 
wealthy at the decease of my grandfather, and have just as 
much of this world’s goods so long as he lived as I could use. 
I was youthful and healthy, and I cared not what $as the 
moral character of Mr. Dunmore; I knew that my own was 
pure.’ With these conclusions I remained at ease in mind as 
to what course I would pursue. However, to tell the whole 
truth, Miss Louise, which I determined to tell at the outset, *1 
was quite happy because I could find so many strong arguments 
to plead before my own conscience, on account of my marriage, 
separation, &c., with Mr. Wordings; but all of my former 
sorrows and difficulties, including the affair with Pitkins, which 
had cost my poor Louis his life, I took diligent pains to conceal 
from Mr. Dunmore. 

u I felt that I was his equal, and that if he married me, 
he would not regret it, for I loved him so idolatrously he 
would certainly see that I was endeavoring to make him happy, 
and he could not help being interested and satisfied with 
me. I kept my earlier sorrows all hidden from him, because 
I was afraid that if I told him anything it would create 
suspicion, and when he left me, he might inquire of some 
portion of the malicious world, who would not do me jus- 
tice. I knew also that Mr. Wordings had a host of friends, 
that he had languished under jealousy and envy ever since 
I left him, and that he could not bear the thought of any 
other person possessing me. I had often received letters from 
Mrs. Hewan, who informed me of the distress and anger of 
Mr. Wordings when he heard that I was divorced from 
him, and that he raved and swore that neither pains nor 
money should be spared to prevent my marriage with any 
other person ; and that he dared any man to marry me unless 
he wished to be tormented through life. Knowing all this, 


376 


LOUISE ELTON; 


and loving Mr. Dunmore as I did, I thought that it would not 
he sinful in me if I did cheat him a little. I found that other 
people succeeded who resorted to the same means, and, my dear 
Louise, I was so anxious to marry him that I said not one 
word about my earlier sorrows, and I requested Doctor 
Finlay not to broach a subject upon which there was little 
or no probability of his being interrogated. After remain- 
ing nine weeks at Havana, Mr. Dunmore left for home, 
and we remained, as Lavinia was sinking every hour. At 
length Doctor Finlay requested Father Alonzo, her Spanish 
priest, to remain with her. He did so, and every moment, 
we stood over her with the deepest anxiety. There was a large 
painting in front of her, representing the Saviour nailed to the 
cross. Lavinia pointed to it, and the last thing she said was 
this, 1 It reminds me of the sufferings of my Saviour, for my 
sins, and the sins of the whole world. His death-bed was 
never made ; He was nailed to the cross. I will therefore no 
longer complain of suffering, for I lie here on this gilded 
couch/ Father Alonzo then performed the ceremony the 
Homan Catholics perform over the dying, and the gentle spirit 
of poor Lavinia winged its way to Heaven ! We buried her 
on the 1 sea girt isle and remained there for Emily’s benefit, 
who was declining every day, till she became anxious to go 
home. We then exhumed Lavinia, brought her corpse to 
Green Haven, and there re-interred her. I made but a short 
stay at Green Haven. I could not enjoy a visit there on ac- 
count of the vile-tempered stepmother, who was so cruel to 
Col. Manville’s daughters. I saw the old servant there, who 
lived at the cottage where Leon Edgmont carried me after he 
had rescued me from the mint island. She had not forgotten 
how childishly Leon and I loved each other, and she told me 
that Leon asked a thousand questions about me when he heard 
that I was married. Notwithstanding that I was so fondly 
in love with Mr. Dunmore, the sight of the good old slave 
made me think over my early days. She persisted in calling 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


377 


me 1 Miss Ella/ and I could not prevent the wayward tears 
from falling, when she spoke of the beautiful little green 
knolls, where we used to sit and sing beneath the mulberry 
trees, and the hills, where we climbed after the woodbine 
and wild rose that loved to cling to the rocks. I gave the old 
creature some token of remembrance, and then joined Emily, 
J ulia, Kate, and the governess, Miss Morris, who were waiting 
; for me in the parlor, with Doctor Finlay and Major Barrick. 
I remarked to Emily, one day, that I wanted her to go with 
me to Manville Hall, and be my bridemaid ? 1 Oh no/ she 

replied, 1 my dear Ivanora, I will decline attending you this 
time. I am somewhat superstitious. I waited upon you 
when you were married to Mr. Wordings — you had bad luck. 
The sun seems to shine brightly upon your undertaking, this 
time, and as you are not going to invite any strangers to 
witness the ceremony, of course, you will not be embarrassed. 
Get married without me, cousin ; perhaps you may change the 
luck/ In a short time I said, ‘ farewell' to Green Haven and 
its beloved inmates. Uncle, Colonel Manville, came with me 
to Manville Hall. The place then was truly a lonely one, for 
1 all my lovely companions were faded and gone.' In the 
corner of the chamber now occupied by Aunt Newland, sat my 
aged grandfather. In the ancient dining-room sat old Mr. 
and Mrs. Falkirk, who at that time resided there. Mrs. Fal- 
kirk is my own aunt ; she was my father's only sister, and her 
maiden name was Adelia Birlyn. As soon as I arrived, I dis- 
covered that grandpa's eyes were dimmer, his cheeks more 
hollow, and I saw that Time had been there with his battery, 
and had galvanized the strings of hair with a brighter coat of 
silvering, and that they hung thinner over his lofty brow than 
when I went away. His health had been precarious, ever 
since the shock he got at the death of Louis. He told me, 
that sickness, and darker sorrows, together with his anxiety 
for us all, had made him feel many years older than when he 
last saw me ; and as he was growing feeble, and was then on 

32 * 


378 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


the verge of the grave, he thought I had done right in 
engaging myself to Mr. Dunmore, who had called at Manville 
Hall, and delivered the letters we had written to him in 
Havana; that he had consented to my marriage, and that 
Mr. Dunmore would return to Manville Hall in about a week. 
Grandpa, however, did not say a word to me about telling 
Mr. Dunmore of my former marriage, for he could not bear to 
hear Mr. Wordings’ name mentioned, and there was nothing so 
painful to him as to be reminded of the sad death of Louis. 
Accordingly, I avoided mentioning a subject which I knew 
would distress him. He understood from Mr. Dunmore that 
we had been in the society of each other, for nine weeks, on the 
Island of Cuba, and that everything was satisfactorily arranged 
for our marriage. Grandpa has always been a man of few 
words and he is not apt to ask questions of any one ; he is 
disposed to do right himself, and he presumes that almost 
every body is inclined to do what is right likewise. How 
often have I heard Uncles Arthur and Louis and my mother de- 
clare that they never knew grandpa to do anything designedly 
calculated to dishonor the cause of religion, or anything which 
his conscience could reprimand him for ; never having wounded 
the feelings of his fellow-man, or injured a human being, in 
character, person, or property. 


CHAPTER LIY. 

“ I HAD but little preparation to make for my marriage, as my 
wardrobe was very complete; for, during our stay at Havana, 
we purchased a great many articles, and because I was going 
to be married, I did not intend to take off the mourning I was 
wearing for Lavinia and Louis. Dresh troubles again were 
poured upon us now, for grandpa received letters announcing 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


379 


the death of his sister, Mrs. Ashmore, who requested him to 
take charge of her young daughter Carrie. This was her dying 
request, one, too, with which he has complied faithfully and 
religiously. Letters also came to me from Cousin Julia, at 
Green Haven, telling me that Emily's health was declining 
every day, and that she was exceedingly anxious to be at Man- 
ville Hall; that her stepmother would not hear to her having 
a priest about the house, and that her father seemed to give up 
to her about everything; and that when Emily spoke of send- 
ing for father Stephen, the day previous to her writing, 
her stepmother had a spasm, and the Doctor, with her father, 
and one of the neighbors, sat up with her during the night. 
It was impossible for Emily to come to see me married, as 
the season was so inclement, in our climate, it would have 
been imprudent for her to make a change. Mr. Dunmore at 
length came to Manville Hall, and we were married by Parson 
Macdonald. Grandpa, Mrs. Percy (mother of Uncle Arthur's 
wife), Llewellyn Percy, and Uncle and Aunt Falkirk witness- 
ed the ceremony. Was I to blame for marrying Dunmore? 
1 Yes !' a majority may exclaim ! Be it so, then, and let no 
woman hereafter wed until she has told her intended husband 
the story of her life ! Let her inform him that she is divorced, 
that her first husband lives, and that her name has been 
changed ! I went on, however, to love Dunmore, while many, 
ah ! many sweet hours were charmed away by his kindness 
and his intellectual conversation. I too, became a gross idola- 
ter. I sinned, and now I am punished for it, for I was mag- 
netized, spell-bound, charmed and delighted, in the society of 
my husband. I would have sacrificed all things on earth 
near and dear to me, and bade them an eternal farewell, and 
I would have gone with him through the mysterious regions of 
death itself. Thus, I glided onward, from the second day of 
January till the latter part of May, uninterrupted, scarcely, by 
anything, when one day Emily Manville, Uncle Arthur and 
wife, Aunt Matilda, and Cousin Julia Manville, arrived at the 


380 


LOUISE ELTON ; 


Hall. I recollect, when Emily expressed herself so much 
pleased that I was happily married, that I remarked to her, 

< Yes, Emily, my lamp of life now burns clearly. I feel as if 
the old, green mould, which had once gathered on my youthful 
altar, together with the mildews and weeds, were all now re- 
moved; that I had plucked up all of life’s thistles, I hoped, 
by the roots ; that I had purchased a new lamp and placed it 
upon my altar of hope, and there I went daily, and replenished 
it with perfumed oil/ Was this scene to vanish too? you 
whisper, my lovely Louise. Yes, this scene, and all my vainly 
planned schemes of happiness, have gone like the little spring 
that bursts from the hill-side on rainy days in April. As soon 
as the sunbeams come down, the bubbling fountain is drunk by 
the heat, and then nothing is seen of it but the burning sand, 
and the pebbles which burst in its ebullition from the ground. 
Emily looked sad and low when she came here; she also said 
that she wished to be with me in her last hours, and requested 
grandpa to send for a priest for her. The reverend father 
came, and stayed a week with Emily and Julia. I used to 
listen to the arguments he had with Parson Macdonald, grand- 
pa, and Mr. Dunmore, upon the tenets of the Roman Catholic 
Church. I was highly edified, and, notwithstanding that 
Father Eventius had to contend against everybody at Manville 
Hall, he displayed a stock of talent and learning few were 
able to combat. Julia stayed here during the month of June, 
and until the second week in July, when Parson Macdonald 
took her home. Uncle Arthur and wife went on a tour to 
Scotland, taking with them old Mrs. Percy, and her young 
daughter, Adel. Father Eventius told me that Emily could 
not last very long, though before Julia left her, she seemed to 
rally a little, and could bear to be driven about in the carriage, 
and we took one or two short walks together. 

“The day after Uncle Arthur left here, Mr. Dunmore 
received letters from his father, who requested him to come 
home to him immediately, and urged him to comply with his 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


381 


request in such a manner as made it out of the question for 
Mr. Dunmore to refuse to go. He even told him that he must 
not wait one day after the reception of his letter, but come to 
-him as soon as possible. I was very unwilling for him to 
leave me, but he seemed himself very anxious to be off, more 
so than I supposed he would be, for I thought he would feel 
quite reluctant to leave me. He assured me, however, that 
he would return as soon as possible, and that he would write 
to me every other day after he arrived at Cherry Hill, the 
residence of his father. Still, I thought I noticed a restless- 
ness and impatience in Dunmore to be gone, and I was morti- 
fied to see him so eager to get away. I was very sensitive, 
however, and hurt, because I thought he should have expressed 
deeper regret at leaving me than he did. His trunks were 
packed, and sent to town the ensuing morning. On the even- 
ing of that day, as the fading sun was gilding the mountains, 
my lonely form might have been seen, for I stood upon the 
peak of the hill beyond the Hall, gazing into the deep shades 
of the trees, where I had caught the last glimpse of my hus- 
band as he left me in the morning. I returned to the Hall, 
however, to administer to the calls of my suffering Emily. 
She became more and more resigned every day, and Father 
Eventius then came frequently to see her, and every time I 
took my thoughts from the bed of my dying Emily, I was in 
my fancy eagerly pursuing my absent and idolized husband 
over the rivers and mountains. He wrote to me frequently 
while he was gone, and surprised me by not writing in a more 
impassioned style than he did. His letters were kind and 
respectful, and I read them over a thousand times, trying 
to persuade myself that I was mistaken, that my own heart 
was a woman’s heart, and that I ought not to expect a man to 
indulge in so many trivial expressions of love as I was guilty 
of when I wrote to him. I made every apology imaginable 
for him, for I loved him as no woman ever loved, and as no 
woman should love anything that is mortal. I thought of 


882 


LOUISE ELTON; 


him, wrote to him, dreamed about him, and as the day was 
drawing near for him to return, I roamed through the bowers 
of my imaginary paradise, where I culled the most beau- 
tiful and fragrant flowers, and wreathed them into a garland 
to crown him with when I met him again ! I pictured to 
myself my happiness when I saw the smile that was wont to 
play over his manly face whenever I approached him. At 
length he came ! The day dawned that I had imagined would 
be one of the most blissful of my life, but in this also I was 
disappointed, as I had been in all my schemes of happiness. 
I was in your bed-room, my good Louise (for there poor 
Emily died), attending her, when I heard some one enter my 
own chamber. I left her in the hands of Aunt Matilda, and 
hurried to my room, and behold Mr. Dunmore was there ! I 
ran to him, and fell into his arms in an ecstacy ! He received 
me kindly, but was silent. I expected that he would return 
as much delighted at seeing me as I knew I should be when I 
met him ; and when I observed that he seemed cool towards 
me, I asked him- if anything was the matter ? He said not a 
word, but gazed intently at me, and then I saw large tear-drops 
roll down his cheeks. I was greatly distressed to see him 
weep, and I said to him, ‘ Mr. Dunmore, what is the matter V 
He raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and said, ‘ Ivanora, I 
have something horrible to tell you/ — I could not conjecture 
what was on his mind ; I was agitated, and I trembled. After 
a little, I remarked, ‘ Tell me what it is that distresses you so 
deeply ; there is not a cloud that can shade your heart that 
I may not be able to dispel/ — ‘Well/ said he, ‘sit here by 
me/ — He seemed reluctant to begin, but recovering his com- 
posure, he said, ‘ Tell me who you were when I married you/ 
I turned pale, and my head fell upon his shoulder. I was so 
much shocked I could not speak for five minutes, and he 
asked me again. Said I, ‘ My name was changed to Ivanora 
Manville, my maiden name was Ella Birlyn, and the gentle- 
man I first married is named Wordings/ 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


383 


li ‘ Why did you not apprise me of all this before our mar- 
riage V said he. ‘ Because/ said I, ‘ I hoped it would never 
make any difference. I knew my character was unspotted, 
and I loved you so fondly that I was afraid to tell you, for 
fear that you might inquire about me, and hear something 
from some idle gossip, and you would not marry me ; be- 
cause I loved you so dearly I determined to secure you, if I 
could, and I thus said to myself, “ I know my heart — I 
know that my moral character pure. I will not deceive Mr. 
Dunmore in that respect; and as I have an aversion to 
relating my old sorrows, if silence will secure him to me as 
my husband, I certainly shall have him. I was publicly divorced 
from Mr. Wordings; the legislature having restored me to 
all the rights and privileges of an unmarried woman. I have 
not imposed upon you from any bad motive ; then why, oh ! why 
do you receive me in this manner V — 1 Be composed/ said he, 
‘ and listen to me. My father, mother, and sister are scrupu- 
lously conscientious upon the subject of divorces, and so is 
every other member of my family. They all have an educa- 
tional as well as a religious prejudice against the law that 
permits any one to be divorced, unless one can be obtained for 
the cause specified by the Saviour in his Sermon on the Mount. 
Recollect, however, that I am only telling you what are the 
sentiments of my parents and my sister : I do not say that I 
fully concur with them, but still their opposition to a divorced 
person knows no limit. There is no argument that can be 
used that would palliate this matter with them. Conscience, 
on that score, is their guide, and they place it above all the 
laws that have ever been framed under heaven upon the subject 
of divorce. You recollect I received a letter from my father 
the day before I left Manville Hall ? You know how I was 
agitated while reading ’it? He urged me to come home 
to him in such a manner that I could not refuse. When I 
reached my father’s house, I found himself, my mother, and 
my sister in tears, — they were mortified and distressed. My 


384 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


father demanded of me the name of the lady I had married. 
I told him I had married Miss Ivanora Manville. He then 
walked to his secretary, took out a package of newspapers, 
and handed them to me, saying, “ I wish you to read those 
hymeneal notices, and explain to us the meaning of them.” 
The first one announced my marriage on a certain day to 
“ Miss Ella Birlyn ;” the second said that I had married 
“Mrs. Ella Wordings,” and a third chronicled my mar- 
riage to “ Miss Ivanora Manville.” I knew no such woman 
as Miss Ella Birlyn, and had at that time never heard such 
a name as Wordings. I was astonished and deeply mortified 
to be arraigned in this way before my parents and my 
sister, and relative to my wife, too, for I was totally unpre- 
pared for the trial, and could give no explanation at all. 
My sister, after a little time, informed me that she had 
heard you were once the wife of an elderly pious gentle- 
man, and that your indiscreet conduct embittered his life ; that 
you left him and went off with a strange man to your grand- 
father’s ; that you were divorced from him, and owing to 
some mystery in your family, you refused to have your maiden 
name restored to you ; that, before you left Manville Hall 
for Cuba, you were connected with a man, calling himself 
Pitkins, with whom you attempted to elope ; that you were 
pursued by your uncle, Louis Manville, who had an encounter 
with your lover, and that your uncle and Pitkins both fell 
dead at your feet before you were carried to your grandfather’s 
again; that your cousin, Miss Lavinia Manville, was ill at 
Manville Hall at the time, and that your conduct and the 
death of your uncle, no doubt hastened her death. 

“‘It is also rumored that you left Manville Hall late 
one evening, pretending you were going to some old fortune- 
teller, and that your cousins Emily and Lavinia accompa- 
nied you ; that you had formed a plan with Pitkins to elope 
with him, and detained your cousins at the fortune-teller’s 
house until it grew late, listening to a ghost story, and as 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


385 


you all returned, you met Pitkins on the old bridge ; and 
Emily and Lavinia being delicate and nervous at the recita- 
tion of old Mrs. Haney’s ghost story, you endeavored to 
make them feel alarmed, and as they ran across the bridge 
towards the Hall, you ran back to the road on the opposite 
side, and hid yourself amongst the trees, and was on the eve 
of making your escape with Pitkins, when Louis Manville 
discovered you ; and this is reported to have been the cause of 
the affray between Pitkins and Louis. Most persons believe 
that there was a plan between the fortune-teller and yourself 
for you to propose a ghost story after she had told your for- 
tune, in order to detain you until it grew late, so that when 
you met Pitkins at the bridge, and eloped with him, you might 
have the shades of night over you ; and in this way, by day- 
light, you would be enabled to get beyond the reach of your 
friends at Manville Hall, whom you were satisfied would pur- 
sue you/ 

u 1 Many believe that this fellow Pitkins was none other 
than Leon Edgmont, an individual to whom you were once 
engaged to be married, that he left a wife and several children, 
and came to Manville Hall to elope with you to the Southwest. 
The silence, too, observed by your family and yourself respect- 
ing these matters, makes me fear that you all studiously con- 
cealed things from me which I should have been apprised of; 
and, taking this fact into consideration with the prejudices of 
my family, I should commit a grievous sin were I to remain 
with you another day. I shall leave Manville Hall in perhaps 
two hours, and although it is painful to me to tell you, I must 
inform you that I shall never see you more !’ I shrieked, 
sunk on the floor, and buried my face from his gaze. At 
length, reviving a little, I arose and said, 1 Clifford, will you 
hear me ? Will you listen to the truth ? — for the charges you 
have brought against me are all slanders and odious falsehoods/ 
I then reiterated to him in substance what I have told you, 
dear Louise, up to the death of Louis. It was, however, as if 

33 


386 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


he had dealt me a death-blow to say that anything I had done 
had hastened Lavinia’s death, because such a thing was 
never dreamed of by any member of our family ; for, when 
Louis was killed, one of her lungs was half gone, and she was 
dying long before she ever thought of Cuba. I then reminded 
Mr. Dunmore of every little minutia of my life, culpable or 
not. It was then too late, I know, but still I determined to 
tell him all, and endeavored, too, to excuse myself for not 
advising him, in the first instance, of my former life, by plead- 
ing the ardor of my affection, and a sentiment from the pen of 
the distinguished Boerhaave, who believed that ‘ the best of 
mankind are not exempt from detraction, and that the sparks 
of calumny will be presently extinct unless blown by our- 
selves/ 

“ I tried also to persuade my husband that he ought not to aid 
in rekindling a flame that I knew would soon burn out ; but 
his conscience, and the consciences of his father, mother, and 
sister were the strongest arguments his irritated brain would 
urge. Said I, ‘ There lies Emily Manville in the lower cham- 
ber, who still has sufficient strength to assure you that I have 
told you the truth. In a few days her last sigh will be breathed 
upon this injured bosom of mine ! G-o to her, I entreat you ; 
she will respond to any question you may wish to be satisfied 
upon. Father Eventius is with her, and he is preparing her 
to receive the Host upon her withering tongue. In her dying 
moments, Clifford, it is impossible for Emily to tell a story. I 
have told you the truth ; the world has deceived you, your 
parents, and your sister, with slanders and falsehood. You 
know something of the heavenly mind which poor dying Emily 
possesses, and for my sake go with me and hear the truth about 
that ghost story, the fortune-teller, and the distressing and 
tragical death of Uncle Louis/ Clifford reseated himself by 
me upon the sofa, kindly took my hand and said, ‘I have not 
said I do not believe all you say ; no doubt but that every word 
is true ; but the world believes you are guilty of a great misde- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


387 


meanor ; and when this is the case, a woman is sorrowfully 
injured ; and in the eyes of the public she is just as culpable, 
and as much scorned and censured as if she were guilty. Her 
conscience may be as easy as your own, Ivanora ; still this thing 
called public sentiment cows me, and makes me hang my head, 
for I am ashamed to look up when I know that the world is 
secretly sneering at me because of my wife. How can I ob- 
tain my own consent to be the husband of a woman when 
there is another individual living who claims the same rela- 
tionship with her that I claim ? Ivanora, I have been severely 
wounded since I left you. I travelled in company with Mr. 
Wordings; so soon as I heard who he was, I left the stage- 
coach. As I got out of it, he shook his cane violently, 
and in an angry tone I heard him say, ‘ That man has married 
my wife/ I cannot bear such expressions as this. I never 
felt so much lowered in my life. I may meet him again on 
the broad arena of life, and I do not wish to be insulted by 
him any more. I would not disgrace and distress my family 
by committing murder, nor send my immortal soul to endless 
perdition by such an act. I am passionate, however, and should 
I ever see Mr. Wordings again, and he become excited, I know 
not what might be the result to both of us. Another such 
tragedy as you once witnessed between your uncle and Pit- 
kins might occur. I believe Wordings to be an unprincipled 
old wretch ; but 'tis too true that he once married you. I am 
also satisfied that he has been instrumental in distressing my 
old parents and my sister ; for upon an investigation of the 
marriage publications, I discovered that he had bribed the 
editors of the different papers to print them, or have them an- 
nounced as he wrote them ; he then forwarded them to my 
father, together with a pamphlet, purporting to have emanated 
from the friends of Pitkins, declaring you guilty of every im- 
prudence, and detailing matters relative to Mr. Wordings and 
yourself; also an intrigue with Pitkins, his death, and the 
death of Louis, and Miss Lavinia. I never read such a book 


388 


LOUISE ELTON; 


of horrors as old Wordings has had published against you. 
You are, no doubt, innocent, notwithstanding his charges, 
and I determined to remain until you gave me your explana- 
tion. I knew that if I left without hearing you, that you 
would not be satisfied, because you had not had an opportunity 
to make your defence to me. It is useless for me to go to Emily, 
as I do not wish to distress the family by my wobegone looks. 
I am happy to think that you are innocent of the charges in 
the pamphlet ; but “ what signifies right against might V } I 
wish the world could think of you as I do, but public senti- 
ment is against you/ Then he handed me the marriage an- 
nouncements and old Wordings’ pamphlet, the only one writ- 
ten by himself, that ever saw the light paid for from his 
opulent purse, and forwarded to the father of my husband, to 
ruin me in his estimation. — ‘ Well/ said I, ‘ Mr. Dunmore, 
you pretend to argue, that a person who is charged with a 
crime is sunk as low in society as if that person is actually 
guilty; that because the world may believe one guilty, the un- 
fortunate individual deserves as little respect, and should be 
scorned on account of slanderous report, in the same way, as if 
really guilty ?’ — ‘Just the same/ said he. — ‘ Very well/ re- 
plied I; ‘thank God, I have the right to differ from you 
and the whole world too. I thank God that in this hour 
of trial, He has sent me strength to regain my composure. 
You have disgusted me, Clifford ; you have almost loosed that 
strong band of love which bound my heart to you. You have 
acted towards me unfeelingly and unmanfully. You acknow- 
ledge my innocence, but you cannot brook the opinion of the 
world, nor set aside the conscientious scruples of your family or 
yourself, even for the sake of your wife and unborn child/ 

“ He shook his head, and then rising, with tears gathering 
in his eyes, said, ‘Farewell for ever, Ivanora !’ and hurried 
from the Hall. I was so wounded, and my heart so grievously 
crushed at the course of my husband, that I knew not what to 
do then, I so much disliked to distress grandpa, for at that 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 389 

time Manville Hall was again truly a place of woe. Emily was 
dying, and my aged grandfather was ill, and we believed he 
was also fast wearing out with the cares and sorrows of life. I 
had several spells of fainting during the afternoon, and when 
grandpa sent for me to come to him, I was too weak to go. He 
had learned from the servants that Mr. Dunmore had come 
home, remained but a short time, and had gone away, and 
that I was ill, too ill, to go to dear Emily, who was every 
moment calling for me. Grandpa was satisfied that if Emily 
called for me, and I did not go to her, something more 
than usual was the matter; and he thought it looked very 
curious in Mr. Dunmore to come home and leave so abruptly, 
as he did not even call at his chamber to say, 1 How d’ye do V 
nor to inquire about his health. Sick and feeble as he was, 
however, with the assistance of the servants, he came trem- 
bling into my chamber, — and 0, what a tale had I to relate ! 
He laid his pale and emaciated form on the sofa, while I nar- 
rated to him what had passed between Mr. Dunmore and my- 
self during the forenoon. Many a time, when I am now 
alone, and I think of that trying day, I imagine that I hear the 
sad groans grandpa uttered while I related my troubles of that 
morning to himself. He consoled me, however; and ill as he 
was, he begged me, with a kind of preternatural strength, to 
summon my fortitude, to be calm, to trust in God, and to re- 
member that He would never forsake me; that He was my 
father and my friend ; and no matter what calamity befell me in 
life, that the arms of my grandfather would receive me and 
protect me as long as he lived. I was greatly strengthened by 
his words, and when the servants again carried him to his 
chamber, I took a medicine that revived me a little, and laid 
down to try and sleep. I could not, however ; for every now 
and then Emily’s low moan came to my ear. Aunt Matilda 
came to my chamber, late in the night, and told me to get up, 
that she was dying. I arose and went to her, and as I kissed 
the cold mist of death from her brow, I wished that the same 

33 * 


390 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


sad night could also be my last on earth. I wished that one 
winding-sheet might enshroud both of us; and I thought that 
as we had loved each other so fondly in life, and had so often 
rioted at the banquet of friendship, it would not only be a happy, 
but a pretty closing scene for us to die in each other’s arms, 
and also for the same spirit of the grave to mount with us upon 
its often-tried pinions, and thus waft us linked together to 
celestial bowers. I stood over her, and saw her die. She was 
calm and happy, and as the last silver rays of the morning-star 
faded on the distant greenwood, I left her lifeless form on the 
couch where you have enjoyed so many healthful slumbers. 
After the interment of Emily, it was not long before I heard 
of the death of Julia. I was, however, then prepared for any 
change in life, and I compared my wretched self to the sea-boy, 
who is worn out with piloting amongst the islands of an Arctic 
ocean — to one, also, who has striven to escape the sharp, 
gigantic rocks, which every moment threaten to crush his 
little bark, but who, at last, regains a shore, which alas ! 
wears the garb of desolation and barbarism. He gathers an 
old firelock, a case of books, and a few other articles that the 
foamy tide has washed on shore. He wanders over burning 
sands, and through barren wilds, in hope that he will find a 
safe retreat from the savages and beasts of prey, that often cross 
his path. Still he rambles onward, while the shades of gloom 
and misery are over him. If he look back towards the sea, 
there still float the shattered fragments of his bark, and before 
him the arid waste of earth, with all its horrors, meets his 
tear-washed eyes. How miserable must a person like this 
one be, Louise ! but not more so than I have been. I began, 
after a time, to look for a place of refuge. I knew very well 
that I could not outface the calumny of the world. I would 
not attempt it; and as all the loved ones of my youth were 
gone, and I was forsaken by one whom I had so ardently loved. 
I said to myself one day, whilst I was leaning against the tree 
that spreads its shade over the graves of my father, my mother, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 391 

and Louis, that I hoped I might never see the face of another 
stranger while I lived. The front doors of Manville Hall were 
then closed and locked. They seemed, too, to be emblems of 
the doors of the world. I saw no portal open but the door of 
the back staircase that leads to grandpa’s chamber. I one day 
came down those steps, and out, I said, at the back door of the 
world, and I found the road to this cottage. It was then in 
ruins ; the w r alls were slimy, and the little court in front was 
overgrown with tall weeds. I returned to the Hall, told grand- 
pa what I designed doing, and he did not oppose me. The 
cottage and its environs were soon improved, and hither I re- 
paired. I bade adieu to the last gleams of that golden sun- 
light which sinks upon life’s tumultuous ocean, and sat myself 
down here in this rustic seclusion. Here I have become fami- 
liar with contentment. I hate the strife of the idle world, for 
its pleasures have never afforded me any abiding substance. 
Uncle and Aunt Falkirk are kind to me ; they protect me; and 
I see grandpa, my aunts, Lizette, and Ada, very often, and 
Carrie Ashmore visits me occasionally ; but Moss Cottage is too 
lowly a spot for Carrie. 

“ I have also been more secluded than I perhaps otherwise 
should have been, because, I heard that the sister of my 
husband declares that she intends to send men here and wrest 
Louis from me, and that she has directions from her brother 
to that effect. Old Uncle Falkirk is a dangerous man, when 
his temper is aroused, and he has sworn, that if any one should 
attempt to rob me of my child, he will kill, or be killed, 
rather than it shall be done. These are the shades of silence 
and seclusion, Louise, and I trust that I have acted my last 
part in the drama of life, and that the curtain of death may 
fall when I am tranquil upon my solitary couch. I desire 
no more scenes, for I have had enough. It is truly painful, 
however, to reflect on what has befallen me, and even now 
my heart loses sight of the injury that has £een practised 
against me; for, many a time, old shadows flit away, and 


392 


LOUISE ELTON; 


then, in the pale gleams of sunshine that light my heart, I 
begin to think of Mr. Dunmore and love him again. I believe 
I could forget the wound he has given me, as I have long 
ago forgiven him, and I often roam back to the days when I 
loved to live for him. I love my darling Louis, and while 
away many an hour in caressing him, and often when I drink 
his morning breathings, as sweet as the dew on the white jas- 
mine flower, and pillow my lips upon the beds of fresh roses 
that bloom upon his round cheeks, I forget that I have been 
so miserable and so unfortunate. — And now, my dear Louise, 
my story is closed. I ask you not to express your opinion of 
my conduct in life. Regard me as a friend who has retired 
from the world, and who has found in religious seclusion, and 
in the study of books, that fountain of happiness which bursts 
perpetually from the green hills of consolation, which affords 
the wanderer a cooling draught, though he shall have travelled 
all day over burning sands; hungry, and perhaps thirsting for 
a drop of water to cool his fevered lips !” 


CHAPTER LY. 

After the conclusion of the sad and awful story of Mrs. 
Dunmore, there was a load of anguish, that had drifted against 
my heart, which was not cleared away, till a flood of tears came 
flowing down my cheeks. Many indeed, and solemn, were the 
reflections that crowded my mind! Many, yes, many the 
sympathies that rushed into my heart ! “ Here,” said I, “is one 
endowed with all the accomplishments of nature and science. 
She, too, had unshrouded her mysterious life to me, and I was 
bound to conclude that she had done so with all openhearted- 
ness and sincerity, for she demonstrated clearly to me a heart, 
that' had* been regenerated and purified in the waters of truth. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


393 


I was strongly moved when she warbled her sorrowful lays; 
and pleased when I was convinced that she had not been the 
author of her grievous misadventures in life. Her heart and 
mind were too delicately nerved to digest such coarse and vul- 
gar food as the varied and unjust opinion of the world. Here, 
at Moss Cottage then, she lived a solitary recluse, chastened 
and subdued by misfortune; the victim too, of opinion and 
prejudice, but with a mind which I considered an intellectual 
green-house, wherein flowers of every clime were collected, and 
which blossomed in showy dyes during the most inclement 
winter, exhaling, at the same time, the most delicious fra- 
grance ! Here, she seemed to be happy, for she loved to 
view the empyrean vault, with the silvery stars that glittered 
above the lowly cottage, where she had made many pilgrimages 
over the thorny road of life, in her retrospective views ; and 
although the world was so fascinating and beautiful, she could 
draw a veil betwixt herself and its vanity, and be soothed with 
resignation; while she would often bless and commune with 
Him, at whose instance the heavenly dome was formed, whose 
hand wreathed the sparkling stars in the azure arch, who gilded 
the shining moon, and whose mystic pencil tinged the dazzling 
sun with beams of crimson and gold ! 


CHAPTER L VI. 

I bent my steps slowly and mournfully to Manville Hall, 
after I had heard the story of Mrs. Hunmore. I told Miss 
Matilda and Mrs. Newland what sad feelings had come over 
me, while I listened to the story of their secluded niece. They 
expressed much pity for her, and assured me she was a truth- 
ful woman, and that I might believe every word she had uttered. 

Miss Matilda then informed me that Captain Mays had 
obtained the consent of her brother Charles, Mrs. Newland, and 


394 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


herself, to marry Carrie Ashmore. That as Carrie was natu- 
rally of a gay disposition, and foud of company she had teased 
her uncle until he consented for her to invite a large number 
of persons to her wedding; and they were making prepara- 
tion accordingly. What a reaction would be created upon the 
corporeal system, if the genial days of spring were to burst 
forth ; and the face of nature, which so lately had been chilled 
and deformed by the sleets and snows of the hibernal season, 
should suddenly appear in the green and flowery habiliments of 
the vernal months ? I felt almost as curious as a person would 
feel, to experience the quick metamorphosis of winter to spring, 
after I left the mournful woman of Moss Cottage, and heard 
that a gay crowd was soon to glitter within the antique rooms 
of Manville Hall. Miss Matilda also informed me, that invita- 
tions had been written and sent to all the members of the family, 
and that Carrie had made many purchases of finery for the 
occasion. Miss Matilda, Mrs. Newland, old Mrs. Peebles, the 
servants, and frequently Mrs. Palkirk, were all busy preparing 
for the wedding. One day when Miss Ashmore was in my 
chamber, I asked her how many persons she supposed would 
come to the wedding. — “ All, I hope,” said she ; “ I want a 
tremendous crowd ; and I have sent off two hundred tickets.” 
After a while Ada came to me and said, “ Miss Louise, Uncle 
Charles says, come to his chamber, for he wants you.” I fol- 
lowed Ada into Mr. Manville’ s room, where I found Miss Ma- 
tilda with a long narrow box upon her lap. Mr. Manville said, 
“ My daughter, they are making great preparation for a wedding 
company here ; and as you have stayed so closely at home, and 
this Hall is so retired from the fashions of the world, I was 
afraid that you had not made any party dresses so long, 
that I bought a pattern, the other day, which I will present 
to you, if you will accept it. It is a delicate rose-color ; I 
thought that, as your complexion is rather auburn, a handsome 
pink would become you very much.” Miss Matilda then 
opened the box, and displayed to me a splendid pink crape 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 395 

dress-pattern, embroidered beautifully with white and green 
vines. I thanked my kind old friend ; and went to town the 
ensuing day with Miss Matilda, to have it made up for the ap- 
proaching festival. I also assisted Mrs. Newland and Miss 
Matilda in their preparation for the wedding ; and Carrie Ash- 
more kept the carriage and horses at the door by the hour, and 
every now and then she would fly off to town after some article 
of dress that she believed she must have. Mr. Manville 
allowed her to do pretty much as she chose about what she was 
to purchase for her wardrobe. One evening, however, after she 
had come from town, she sent for Mrs. Peebles to come to her 
chamber, and cut a splendid roll of carpeting; and then Miss 
Matilda went directly to see what she was again doing. Carrie 
told her aunt that the old chamber which she had occupied 
was not fit for Captain Mays to go into, and that she had pur- 
chased a fine Brussels carpet, and had ordered an upholsterer to 
come to Manville Hall the next day, with a furniture-wagon full 
of articles, that corresponded with the fine carpet ; and that she 
intended to furnish one of the chambers on the opposite side of 
the passage, and have it for her own use, after she married Cap- 
tain Mays. “ But, Carrie,” said Miss Matilda, “ those rooms 
have been arranged for other persons; your Cousin Arthur will 
occupy one ; and as Iona is going to bring every one of her 
children, they will occupy one , then your Cousin Kate and 
Llewellyn must have a room ; and Dr. Finlay and others are 
expected to fill the remaining two.” — “ Well, Aunt, the carpet 
is bought, and the furniture engaged,” said Carrie, “ and I 
must have a better room for Captain Mays than this old smoked 
pl ace .” — a You can settle that matter with Brother Charles,” 
said Miss Matilda, leaving Carrie and old Mrs. Peebles unroll- 
ing the carpet. In a moment Mr. Manville appeared at the 
door, and said, “ Carrie, as you have brought that carpet here, 
and ordered new furniture, you may put it in your own chamber ; 
that suite of rooms on the opposite side of the Hall, is arranged 
for other people. This is my house, and if it is not fine 


396 


LOUISE ELTONJ 


enough for Captain Mays, give him my compliments, and tell 
him he’d better build one to his liking.” The old gentle- 
man went off; and Carrie sat down to pout and cry. She, how- 
ever, had the carpet cut and made, and then stretched over the 
floor of her chamber ; and the fine furniture was brought on the 
next day, and placed there also. 

So great was the confusion and hurry to have everything in 
style, that Miss Matilda and Mrs. Newland scarcely were 
prepared for the company to begin to come in, when the 
arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Manville, with three servants 
and six children, was announced. The next day, Llewellyn 
Percy, Kate, two children, and two servants came ; also old 
Mrs. Percy, the mother of Llewellyn, and her daughter, Adel, 
and two Misses Macdonald, nieces of Parson Macdonald, came 
with Dr. Finlay. All Manville Hall was alive, and the old 
walls reverberated the merry laugh and noise of the children, 
who were delighted to be at grandpa’s. Mrs. Arthur Manville 
was the greater portion of her time in Miss Ashmore’s apart- 
ment, assisting her to pack her finery in her trunks ; assorting 
over flowers, jewelry, and laces; and advising -Carrie how to 
dress to be married, and how to put on her travelling dress of 
a morning, and which silks and velvets to wear in Philadelphia, 
and how she must dress in New York and Boston. Mrs. 
Arthur Manville was as gay in her disposition as Carrie Ash- 
more, but she had such a family of children she could not 
give vent to her feelings. She, however, dressed in great 
style, and was exceedingly stiff, pompous, and aristocratic in 
her manner. Still there was an uncommon degree of grace 
and style about her, that made every one observe her with 
interest, notwithstanding she possessed but a limited education 
She had not the vanity of Miss Ashmore, but seemed to be 
exceedingly proud. She was very precise in her manners, 
and looked as if she had practised her actions before a looking- 
glass. I was passing her once upon the gallery, and when I 
spoke to her in my usual manner, she took so much time to 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 397 

step back to make one of her studied graceful bows, that I 
actually thought she was going to hand me something. She 
called old Mr. Manville, father, but pronounced the word so 
short and stiff, that it sounded as if she said fother. She, too, 
was going to the North, and had engaged old Mrs. Peebles to 
go along as her nurse. The abolitionists had stolen so many 
servants from the people of the Southern States, that they 
determined to carry white servants with them. Kate had an 
elderly white woman to go with her, and Carrie Ashmore ran 
down to inform her uncle that she had packed Rosalinda’s 
trunk, and intended to carry her to the North to wait upon 
Captain Mays and herself. — “ You cannot take Rosetta with 
you, Carrie,” drily said her Uncle Charles. — “ Why, uncle, 
what is the reason I cannot ? I have packed her trunk, and 
Rosalinda is crazy to go, and if I do not take her, what on 
earth am I to do for a waiting-maid ? or what will Captain 
Mays do for a valet-de-chambre ?” said Carrie. — “I cannot 
inform you,” replied Mr. Manville. — “Well, what is your 
objection to her going?” again persisted she. — “Because,” 
said Mr. Manville, “ the abolitionists at the North will steal 
her ; and as I have some regard for the character and comfort 
of my slaves, I have no idea of placing one of them in a situa- 
tion to be allured from the path of duty and right by any such 
lawless, irreligious scamps, as the abolitionists are.” — “ But, 
uncle,” continued she, “ how can they take Rosa away from 
me, when she would be unwilling to go ? Rosa would not 
leave me to go to heaven.” — “ That’s highly probable,” said 
her uncle, “but where people have so much conscience as 
some of 'the Northernites boast of, I can have nothing to do 
with them. Many of them place their conscience above the 
laws of their country, and where that is the case, this class of 
individuals form what I call an isthmus between infidelity and 
Christianity, or an intermedial ground-plot between men and 
brutes.” — “Well, uncle,” said she, again, “if they are consci- 
entious, they are right. I have always had a high regard for 

34 


398 


LOUISE ELTON; 


everybody who is conscientious .” — “ I have not,” said Mr. 
Manville ; “ I regard the established laws of my country above 
any man’s conscience. The Illumines before the French 
Revolution, called themselves men of conscience. They secretly 
associated themselves in every part of Europe, with a view to 
destroying religion, and engrossing to themselves the govern- 
ment of mankind. Whenever people, like the Atheists of 
France, and the abolitionists of the North, begin to usurp the 
civil government of their country, they run into the same 
absurdities. The Illuminists taught that ‘government is a 
curse, and authority a usurpation ; that civil society is only 
the apostacy of man ; that the possession of property is rob- 
bery ; that chastity and natural affection are mere prejudices; 
and that adultery, assassination, poisoning, and other crimes of 
a similar nature are lawful and even virtuous.’ Whenever a 
set of people go on as the abolitionists of the Ndrth do, calling 
themselves conscientious men, and disregarding the laws of 
their country, crime is the result, and its perpetrators become 
insurrectionists against legalized authority. Rosetta has a 
neatly-furnished room here, has plenty to eat, and dresses 
remarkably well. If she should get sick, I will have her 
attended to, and when she shall die, I will have her decently 
buried, and a funeral sermon after she is laid away ; and I 
have some doubts upon my mind whether the abolitionists of 
the North are so well prepared to accommodate her.” — Carrie 
instantly took another violent spell of pouting, and left her 
uncle putting on his hat to go out on his farm about his agri- 
cultural business. 

On the morning of Carrie’s wedding, Kate came into my 
room, with Lizette and Ada hanging fondly about her. They 
loved Sister Kate affectionately, and as Mrs. Percy sat down, 
she expressed herself highly gratified at the course I had pur- 
sued with Lizette and Ada. She seemed delighted that Ada’s 
health had improved, and said she had no doubt but that 
their removal from Green Haven was the saving of Ada’s life. 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


399 


That as she was constitutionally delicate, the course of her 
stepmother was calculated to prostrate the system of any deli- 
cate child like Ada; that she had seen the time when the 
children were so starved that she herself had stolen tallow for 
them to eat, and had paid the servants to bring them salt to 
season it, to their back window. Lizette and Ada had grown 
so that Kate scarcely recognised them. She examined them, in 
several of the sciences, and was moved to tears to hear them 
respond so correctly, and with so much intelligence. After 
satisfying herself with them, she said to me, “ Miss Elton, I 
have a message from pa, for you. I spent a week with him at 
Green Haven as I came here. Lizette is growing to he a 
young woman, and Ada is almost as tall as Lizette ; they have 
been under your supervision nearly four years, and pa now 
wishes them to go to Philadelphia, and remain two years in 
a boarding-school, in order to accomplish them in music, 
drawing, painting, embroidery, and shell-work. As Mr. Percy 
and I go along with Cousin Carrie and Uncle Arthur’s family, 
pa thinks it best for Lizette and Ada to go now, as I shall 
be with them, and will attend and see them comfortably and 

suitably established at Madam ’s, in Philadelphia.” I 

replied to little Kate, that it was an excellent arrangement, 
and that I was aware they were to be sent to Philadelphia, 
after my four years closed at Manville Hall. I then began to 
reflect upon what I should do, or where I should go. I knew 
that I could have a home at Manville Hall until I could get a 
situation elsewhere, but the thoughts of leaving a place to which 
I was so much attached actually cast such a gloom over me, 
that neither the bustle of the gay crowd about the Hall, nor 
the anticipation of a livelier throng the coming evening, could 
dispel. Mr. Manville had been a father to me, and every time 
I beheld his snowy locks, a tear dimmed my eyes at the 
thought of leaving his home. I looked mournfully at the 
mountains, the old rustic bridge, the impenetrable green and 
flowery glades, and at the hills, over which I so often had 


400 


LOUISE ELTON; 


looked at the sun, as it rose, and at the highest mountain of the 
distant range, where I gazed upon its red globe as it seemed 
to drop behind its lofty spire. I took my bonnet and ran 
about the garden, thinking of the old moss-covered rocks at 
the spring, the cliffs, and river banks, the deep ravines, near 
Rocky Chapel, my school-room, Ivanora, and the amiable in- 
mates of the antique Hall. I was happily disappointed, how- 
ever, that I did not meet Hr. Finlay when I went to dinner. 
He had gone with Kate to see Ivanora, and did not return. 
I intended if he sent for me to come down during the afternoon, 
to be excused, for I felt so gloomy about leaving such a dear 
home, that, I at one time concluded I would not leave my 
chamber at all. Then, again, I knew that Mr. Manville would 
expect me to go down stairs to the wedding, and as he had 
given me such an elegant dress, and Miss Matilda had paid 
for making it, I determined to go. I knew too, that above 
all things Mr. Manville despised what I had often heard him 
call a “ sullen, pouting woman,” and for fear of displeasing 
my patriarchal friend, I threw off my gloomy meditations and 
commenced dressing. When my toilet was, perhaps, three- 
fourths completed, old Aunt Dorcas came into my chamber 
and handed me the following card. “ Doctor Finlay’s com- 
pliments to Miss Elton, with the request from him to conduct 
her to the parlor at half after seven o’clock this evening.” I 
replied, in the affirmative, and at precisely, half after seven, the 
Doctor was at my door. I was also ready to go below stairs, 
and I then walked into the passage and shook hands with him. 
He immediately offered me his arm, and escorted me into the 
parlor. A gay, laughing, dancing, waltzing crowd had col- 
lected, and still were coming in. Doctor Finlay introduced a 
number of gentlemen and ladies to me, and at eight o’clock it 
was rumored that Captain Mays had arrived. Miss Ashmore 
was too fashionable to be married before nine o’clock, and in- 
tended putting it off until eleven, or twelve, but some of the 
guests had come many miles, and they had to get supper and 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


401 


be off by twelve o'clock. About nine, however, the crowd 
gave way for the bridal procession to come in. First, came 
Mr. Lollington, leading Miss Ida Macdonald ; second Mr. 
J ohnson and Miss Goodman ; third Mr. Gibson and Miss Eudora 
Macdonald; fourth Mr. Howard and Miss Calista Porter; 
fifth Captain Mays and Miss Ashmore. They formed a splen- 
did group, for all were tastily and magnificently dressed. I 
never saw so many silvery spangles, so many glossy ringlets, 
nor so many fragrant bouquets. I thought the Captain and his 
bride were the tallest pair I ever saw married. Captain Mays 
was six feet four inches in stature, and the bride stood five 
feet nine inches in her shoes. I could, however, think of no- 
thing but Venus when she sprung from the foam of the sea, and 
sat her feet upon the land of flowers, as I gazed upon this 
lovely group, for Carrie’s attendants reminded me of the “ rosy 
Houries,” and I repeated to myself, 

“Bright rose the goddess, like the star of morn, 

With rosy fingers, as uncurled they hung 
Round her fair brow, her golden locks she wrung ; 

O’er the smooth surge in silver sandals stood, 

And looked enchantment on the dazzled flood.” 

Carrie was soon Mrs. Mays ; and as she often passed little 
Kate, who was attired in a modest blue silk, with the beautiful 
pearl ornaments in which she became the wife of Llewellyn 
Percy, I was led to draw this comparison between the two wo- 
men : There is a tree, called the Golden Proteus, ydiich grows 
upon the islands of the southern seas; when unagitated it 
presents nothing in its appearance that is striking to the be- 
holder, but whenever the gales blow briskly against it, its leaves 
wave to and fro, and as they rise and fall in the breeze, they 
are said to resemble waves of fire, and present to the astonished 
spectator an appearance singularly grand and beautiful ; but so 
soon as the wind dies away the tree looks uninteresting, and can 


402 


LOUISE ELTON; 


no more exhibit its ruddy golden appearance till again agitated 
by the trade winds. Mrs. Mays made me think of the Golden 
Proteus ; for as long as she was gorgeously dressed, and whirled 
about by the gales of fashion, she shone most brilliantly, and 
was really an object that no person could pass without stopping 
to admire her showy appearance. But Kate Percy reminded 
me of the fragrant white violet, that seems to seek the shades 
of some sequestered bower, there to bloom and diffuse its odor, 
for Kate cared for no homage but that which emanated from 
the heart of her devoted husband ; and as she showed me her 
two lovely children, she declared that she would not exchange 
the felicities of the “ ingle side ” for the ladder to fame, ambi- 
tion, or opulence, nor for that which leads to the throne of a 
monarch. Whilst the marriage party were in the height of 
their enjoyment, Dr. Finlay invited me to promenade with 
him, and I accepted the invitation. As we were traversing the 
long passage, he told me that he loved me ; that he loved me 
the first time he ever saw me ; that a warm and susceptible 
heart had ever vibrated within his bosom, but that many a time 
when he was upon the eve of asking my hand in marriage 
I had repulsed him by my coldness and indifference. That he 
had ever believed that my heart was a casket wherein some 
priceless gems were locked, and that he greatly desired to 
possess those treasures ; and that I must tell him whether I 
would or would not become his wife. — Said I, “ Doctor, I will 
tell you.” — “When may I be favored with a reply ?” said he. 
—“Directly,” said I; “but let me consider a little;” and 
thus I soliloquised. “ My mother is married to Mr. Lampton, 
and although he is my stepfather, and I believe he. is a gentle- 
man, yet he has never invited me to come to his house and 
make my home there. He also has many children and grand- 
children too, who have claims there, that I do not wish to ask, 
and notwithstanding that my mother is his wife, still his home 
might not be an agreeable one to me. My eldest brother has 
a wife and family of children, and I will not go to him for pro- 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 403 

tection. My good brother Alva has long since married Miss 
Woodman, and resides with her relations, of course I cannot 
go there, and Lizette and Ada are to start to Philadelphia in a 
i week or ten days. I have made no arrangement to be gover- 
; ness to any one after I leave here, and I was still too poor to 
purchase a home and fix myself like Miss Nancy Parsons. As 
Dr. Finlay has declared that he loves me, and wishes to marry 
j me, I therefore will comply. I had always known that I ad- 
mired him and esteemed him, and could have loved him, but 
I he had not declared his passion to me, and I determined that 
I never would cherish an affection for any man living, unless I 
had some assurance from him that he loved me in return. I 
never could see how any woman could sustain what I denomi- 
nate one-sided affection. I cannot keep a singleness of friend- 
ship alive. If I have no one to respond to the outpourings of my 
heart, I should forget almost that there is such a thing as friend- 
ship. I would become selfish and lose that natural tenderness 
of my nature. I cannot sustain a one-sided correspondence 
either, and often exclaim how unreasonable in such and such 
friends, to declare that I ought to address them four letters to 
their one, but as I never had studied the poetry of love, conse- 
quently I knew nothing of it but philosophically. 

u If I were going to marry a gentleman to whom I was very 
devotedly attached, and he should come to me and inform me 
that his mind upon the subject had changed, I know I could 
dismiss him without either a sigh, a regret, or a tear; simply 
because my philosophic code would rise before me, and I could 
read this golden oration, 1 Thou art a fool to love him who re- 
sponds not to the affections of thy heart ; and thou art an un- 
reasonable being to desire a man to marry thee, when he is 
indifferent to thy wishes. If there is any philosophy in thy 
organization, surely thou wilt say, u Sir, adieu ! we can be 
friendly and polite to each other, but I no longer love you/ ” I 
reflected, perhaps, for half an hour, before I spoke to Dr. Fin- 
lay. When through my meditations, said I, u Doctor, I be- 


404 


LOUISE ELTON; 


lieve there are no negative adjectives in my vocabulary this 
evening ?” — u Then you will marry me, will you, Louise ?” said 
he. — a I will !” was my reply. I answered him quickly, too, 
for I loved him ; the tender chords of my heart were awakened, 
so soon as he declared his love for me. My feelings burst forth 
like the warm blood that spouts when the surgeon pierces a 
vein of some plethoric person. I said u I will,” quickly, because 
I believed he was anxious to hear me say so, and I determined 
then not to play the coquet, or prude, and wait for him to 
persuade me. I thought, too, that I would not act like the 
silly, indecisive girl, who stood so long deliberating about 
what she deemed a flower of great price, that before she was 
aware of what delays and undetermination will do, the 
morning’s hot sun drank the dewy fragrance of the flower, 
and faded its rosy tinge to a sickly cream-color ; then the pur- 
chaser, who was so eager to buy it at first, for his lady-love, left 
her in disgust, while she was dashing the once delicate blossom 
in anger upon the side-walk. In one week from the day on 
which Miss Ashmore and Captain Mays were married, all the 
gay crowd had left Manville Hall, and were on the road to 
Philadelphia. Lizette and Ada cried bitterly when they bade 
me good-bye, and I wept over them. I communicated to Mr. 
Manville, Miss Matilda, and Mrs. Newland, that I designed 
marrying Dr. Finlay. They were happy and delighted to hear 
it, and on the same evening the Doctor and I walked to Moss 
Cottage to see Ivanora. He there informed her that we were 
shortly to be married, and she expressed herself gratified to 
learn that such a worthy gentleman and Christian as Dr. Finlay 
should have been so fortunate as to win Miss Elton. The 
following day, Dr. Finlay went with Mr. Manville to the town 

of to get license to marry me, and during his absence, 

Parson Macdonald gave me a serious lecture upon the duties of 
a wife ; one, too, that I could not easily forget. And the next 
Sabbath morning’s sun shone on us as we were on our way to 
Rocky Chapel to be married. I preferred going to the church, 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 405 

as there always seemed a something of holiness and solemnity 
in taking the hymeneal vow at church, and more particularly 
at Rocky Chapel. u A dim religious light” shone through the 
antique panes of glass, and a sublime stillness pervaded the 
chapel. Our thoughts were lifted from the vain shows of life, 
to the throne of the Great Architect. The trees that shaded 
this holy edifice, were now heavily draped with leaves ; the 
flowers grew wantonly and beautifully amongst the gray stones 
on the mountains, and the clear river came murmuring along 
in sight of the Chapel, and its waves were gilded with the 
beams of the bright sun, and the gay birds were flying hither 
and thither, through the dark chestnut and cedar groves. The 
dawn of creation, thought I, u when the morning stars sang 
together,” could not have looked more beautiful than this sunny 
morning. We were married in Rocky Chapel by the Rev. 
Mr. Wisdom, an Episcopal clergyman. As we rode to Man- 
ville Hall, Dr. Finlay remarked, “ Well, Cousin Matilda, now 
that I have married Louise, I feel as if I had reached the top 
of the mountain of the Talisman.” I was, indeed, 11 Mrs. Fin- 
lay,” in years afterwards, when I met my old friend Mrs. Anna 
Kipton. At the time of my marriage to Dr. Finlay, Green 
Haven was one of the gayest of places. The Haddingtons, 
the Danetsons, and a number of Mrs. Col. Manville's relations 
spent months there. 

After two years, however, Lizette and Ada left Philadelphia 
for “ Sister Kate's.” Her house was their home. They came 
there two beautiful and highly accomplished young ladies. 
Dr. Finlay, being tired of the practice of his profession, united 
with his uncle, Parson Macdonald, and they purchased a 
Southern farm, adjoining Arthur Manville and Llewellyn 
Percy. Mr. Wordings, by this time, was an aged and infirm 
man. The sickle of death had been busily employed in the 
Dunmore family ; for the father, mother, and sister, who had 
occasioned poor Ivanora so many hours of torture, were dead. 
Remorse, however, and self-reproach, had been the only com- 


406 


LOUISE ELTON; 


panions of Clifford, as lie ranged over the wide earth and angry 
seas. Letters, however, sometimes reminded him that his son 
was said to he an intelligent, blooming boy ; and that his de- 
serted wife was what she had always been, — a lovely, intellec- 
tual, and virtuous woman. He had often been heard to declare 
that he would take the boy away from Ivanora ; but his heart 
was not quite so brutalized as to cause him to put his cruel 
threat into execution ; and one day the astonished Ivanora saw 
her husband enter Moss Cottage. She screamed, and pressed 
Louis close to her heart ; for as she had been called upon to 
separate from so many who were dear to her, she concluded at 
once that Clifford had come to tear Louis from her heart. 
Dunmore, in an instant, was on his knees, and full, round 
tears came rolling down his cheeks, as he begged the forgive- 
ness of his amiable and beautiful wife. Ivanora returned to 
him, for she loved him ; and when she saw him penitent before 
her, she forgave him, and they were reunited. The sirocco 
passed away, and the elongated and softened strings of her lute 
were tuned once more, and peace again came back to Manville 
Hall. In about two years after the return of Mr. Dunmore, 
Ivanora’ s aged grandfather was buried in the old garden at 
Manville Hall, beneath the grand and ancient Salix Babylonica 
tree, by the side of his darling Louis. Miss Matilda and Mrs. 
Newland continued to reside with Ivanora and Clifford, and 
Captain Mays became a merchant in a large city. It appears 
that Clifford Dunmore possessed a good heart, but had been 
improperly influenced. His nature was of such a tender and 
forgiving character, however, that he overcame those morbid 
scruples of conscience which he once boasted of. During his 
last journey, and in his more sober hours, he learned also that 
there is a great deal of corruption in the opinion of the world, 
and that, perhaps, he was committing a greater sin to persist 
in crushing the heart of one who loved him devotedly, and who 
was his legal wife, and in the abandonment of his child, than 


OR, THINGS SEEN AND HEARD. 


407 


if he were to return and cherish them. He, therefore, laid 
aside his conscientious scruples, came home to Manville Hall 
with his wife and child from the cottage, and, as “ circumstances 
alter cases,” he became reconciled to matters, although the first 
husband of Ivanora was yet living. There seems, really, to be 
a natural species of goodness within the heart, implanted there 
by the hand of Omnipotence ; and sometimes does not this native 
purity overcome the heart’s stubbornness, as well as its morbid 
sensibility ? If so, a person, then, will retrace his or her steps 
over their once wanton and cruel track, and restore the little 
floweret their rudeness or rashness has crushed. Yes, they 
will search for it, even if it is languishing and withering in the 
vales or bowers of seclusion, and when they find its tender 
fibres suffering perhaps for the want of culture and due atten- 
tion, they will raise the drooping plant, for humanity then per- 
vades the heart, and place it in a moist and fertile soil, where 
it shortly takes root, and flourishes, and presently it buds and 
blossoms in perennial sweetness, and freshness, and beauty! 


THE END. 


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“ The size is quarto, printed with beautiful type, on white, sized vellum paper, of the finest texture 
and most beautiful surface. The publishers seem to have been solicitous to make a perfectly 
unique book, and they have accomplished the object very successfully. We trust that a liberal 
community will afford them ample remuneration for all the expense and outlay they have necessa- 
rily incurred in its publication. It is a standard Bible. 

“The publishers are Messrs. Lippi ncott, Grambo & Co., No. 14 North Fourth street, Philadel- 
phia.” — Baptist Record. 

“A beautiful quarto edition of the Bible, by L. , G. Ac Co. Nothing can exceed the type in cleat 
ness and beauty: the paper is of the finest texture, and the whole execution is exceedingly neat 
No illustrations or ornamental type are used. Those who prefer a Bible executed in perfect sint- 
uhcit v yet elegance of style, without adornment, will probably never nail one more to their taste 



LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.‘S PUBLICATIONS. 


LIPPINCOTT’S EDITIONS OF 

THE HOLY BIBLE. 

SIX DIFFERENT SIZES, 

Printed in the best manner, with beautiful type, on the finest sized paper, and bound in the most 
splendid and substantial styles. Warranted to be correct, and equal to the best English editions, at 
much less price. To be had with or without plates; the publishers having supplied themselves with 
over fifty steel engravings, by the first artists. 

Baxter’s Comprehensive Bible, 

Royal quarto, containing the various readings and marginal notes ; disquisitions on the genuineness, 
authenticity, and inspiration of the Holy Scriptures ; introductory and concluding remarks to each 
book ; philological and explanatory notes ; table oi contents, arranged in historical order ; a chro- 
nological index, and various other matter; forming a suitable book for the study of clergymen, 
Sabbath-school teachers, and students. 

In neat plain binding, from $4 00 to $5 00. — In Turkey morocco, extra, gilt edges, from $8 00 to 
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minations, $15 00 to $25 00. 

The Oxford Quarto Bible, 

Without note or comment, universally admitted to be the most beautiful Bible extant. 

In neat plain binding, from $4 00 to $5 00. — In Turkey morocco, extra, gilt edges, $8 00 to 112 00. 
— In do., with steel engravings, $10 00 to $15 00. — In do., clasps, <fcc., with plates and illumina- 
tions, $15 00 to $25 00. — In rich velvet, with gilt ornaments, $25 00 to $50 00. 

Crown Octavo Bible, 

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In neat plain binding, from 75 cents to $1 50. — In English Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $1 00 to 
$2 00. — In do., imitation, <fec., $1 50 to $3 00. — In do., clasps, &c., $2 50 to $5 00. — In rich velvet, 
with gilt ornaments, $5 00 to $10 00. 

The Sunday-School Teacher’s Polyglot Bible, with Maps, &c., 

In neat plain binding, from 60 cents to $1 00. — In imitation gilt edge, $1 00 to $1 50. —In Turkey, 
super extra, $1 75 to $2 25. — In do. do., with clasps, $2 60 to $3 75. — In velvet, rich gilt orna-’ 
ments, $3 50 to $8 00. 

The Oxford 18mo., or Pew Bible, 

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super extra. $1 75 to $2 25. — In do. do., with clasps, $2 50 to $3 75.— In velvet, rich gilt orna 
ments, $3 50 to $8 00. 

Agate 32mo. Bible, 

Printed with larger type than any other small or pocket edition extant. 

In neat plain binding, from 50 cents to $1 00. — In tucks, or pocket-book style, 75 cents to $1 00. - 

In roan, imitation gilt edge, $1 00 to $1 50. — In Turkey, super extra, $1 00 to $2 00. In do. do 

gilt clasps, $2 50 to $3 60. — In velvet, with rich gilt ornaments, $3 00 to $7 00. 

32mo. Diamond Pocket Bible; 

The neatest, smallest, and cheapest edition of the Bible published 

In neat plain binding, from 30 to 50 cents. — In tucks, or pocket-book style, 60 cents to $1 00.- 

In roan, imitation gilt edge, ,5 cents to $1 25. — In Turkey, super extra, $1 00 to $1 50. In do. do 

gilt clasps, $1 50 to $2 00. — In velvet, with richly gilt ornaments, $2 50 to $6 00. 

CONSTANTLY ON HAND, 

A large assortment of BIBLES, bound in the most splendid and costly styles, with gold and silvei 
ornaments, suitable for presentation ; ranging in price from $10 00 to $100 00. 

A liberal discount made to Booksellers and Agents by the Publishers. 



ENCYCLOP/EDIA OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE; 

OF., DICTIONARY OF THE BIBLE, THEOLOGY, RELIGIOUS BIOGRAPHY, ALL RELIGIONS 
ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, AND MISSIONS. 

Designed as a complete Book of Reference on all Religious Subjects, and Companion to the Bible ; 
running a cheap and compact Library of Religious Knowledge. Edited by Rev. J. Newton Brown.' 
Illustrated by wood-cuts, maps, and engravings on copper and steel. In ope volume roval 8vo 
Price, $4 00, ’ 


LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 

Lippincott’s Standard Editions of 

THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. 

IN SIX DIFFERENT SIZES. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH A NUMBER OF STEEL PLATES AND ILLUMINATIONS. 
COMPREHENDING THE MOST VARIED AND SPLENDID ASSORTMENT IN THE 

UNITED STATES. 

THE ILLUMINATED OCTAVO PRAYER-BOOK, 

Printed in seventeen d ifferent colours of ink, and illustrated with a number of Steel Plates and 
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most superb binding, ranging in prices. 

In Turkey, super extra, from *5 00 to $8 00. — In do. do., with clasps, $6 00 to $10 00.— In do. 
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8 vo. 

In neat plain binding, from $1 50 to $2 00. — In imitation gilt edge, $2 00 to $3 00. — In Turkey, 
super extra, $2 50 to $4 50. — In do. do., with clasps, $3 00 to $5 00. — In velvet, richly gilt orna- 
ments, $5 00 to $12 00. 

1 6mo. 

Printed throughout with large arid elegant type. 

In neat plain binding, from 75 cents to $1 50. — In Turkey morocco, extra, with plates, $1 75 to 
$3 00. — In do. do., with plates, clasps, <5tc., $2 50 to $5 00. — In velvet, with richly gilt ornaments, 
$4 00 to $9 00. 

1 8mo. 

In neat plain binding, from 25 to 75 cents. —In Turkey morocco, with plates, $1 25 to $2 00. — In 
velvet, with richly gilt ornaments, $3 00 to $8 00. 

32mo. 

A beautiful Pocket Edition, with large type. 

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Turkey, super extra, $1 25 to $2 00. — In do. do., gilt clasps, $2 00 to $3 00. — In velvet, with richly 
gilt ornaments, $3 00 to $7 00. 

32mo., Pearl type. 

In plain binding, from 25 to 37 1-2 cents. — Roan, 37 1-2 to 50 cents. — Imitation Turkey, 50 cents 
to $1 00. —Turkey, super extra, with gilt edge, $1 00 to $1 50. — Pocket-book style, 60 to 75 cents. 

PROPER LESSONS. 

1 8mo. 

A BEAUTIFUL EDITION, WITH LARGE TYPE. 

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gilt ornaments, $3 00 to $7 00. 

THE BIBLE AND PRAYER-BOOK, 

In one neat and portable volume. 

32mo., in neat plain binding, from 75 cents to $1 00. — In imitation Turkey, $1 00 to $1 50.— -In 
Turkey, super extra, $1 50 to $2 50. 

18mo, in large type, plain, $1 75 to $2 50. — In imitation, $1 00 to $1 75. — In Turkey, super 
extra, $1 75 to $3 00. Also, with clasps, velvet, <tc. <tc. 



The Errors of Modern Infidelity Illustrated and Refuted. 

BY S. m. SCHMUCKER, A. IYT. 

In one volume, 12mo. ; cloth. Just published. 

We cannot but regard this work, in whatever light we view it in reference to its design, as one 
of the most masterly productions of the age, and fitted to uproot one of the most fondly cherished 
and dangerous of all ancient or modern errors. God must bless such a work, armed with his own 
truth and doing fierce and successful battle against black infidelity, which would bring His Majesty 
and Word down to the tribunal of human reason, for condemnation and annihilation.— Alb. Spectator 


LIPPINCOTT, GRAM BO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Cjje Clrrgtj of Smmra: 

CONSISTING OF 

ANECDOTES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE CHARACTER OF MINISTERS OF RELI- 
GION IN THE UNITED STATES, 

BY JOSEPH BELCHER, D. D., 

Editor of “The Complete Works of Andrew Fuller,” “Robert Hall,” &C. 

** This very interesting and instructive collection of pleasing and solemn remembrances of many 
pious men, illustrates the characier of the day in which they lived, and defines the men more 
clearly than very elaborate essays.” — Baltimore American. 

“We regard the collection as highly interesting, and judiciously made.” — Presbyterian. 



JOSEPHUS’S (FLAVIUS) WORKS, 

FAMILY EDITION. 

BY THE LATE WILLIAM WHISTON, A. IvT. 

FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION, COMPLETE. 

One volume, beautifully illustrated with Steel Plates, and the only readable edition 

published in this country. 

As a matter of course, every family in our country has a copy of the Holy Bible ; and as the pre- 
sumption is that the greater portion often consult its pages, we take the liberty of saying to all those 
that do, that. the perusal of the writings of Josephus will be found very interesting and instructive. 

All those who wish to possess a beautiful and correct copy of this valuable work, would do well 
to purchase this edition. It is for sale at all the principal bookstores in the United States, and by 
country merchants generally in the Southern and Western States. 

Also, the above work in two volumes. 



BURDER’S VILLAGE SERMONS; 

Or, 101 Plain and Short Discourses on the Principal Doctrines of the Gospel. 

INTENDED FOR THE USE OF FAMILIES, SUNDAY-SCHOOLS, OR COMPANIES ASSEM- 
BLED FOR RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION IN COUNTRY VILLAGES. 

GEORGE BURDER. 

To which is added to each Sermon, a Short Prayer, with some General Prayers for Families, 

Schools, <kc., at the end of the work. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

These sermons, which are characterized by a beautiful simplicity, the entire absence of contro- 
versy, and a true evangelical spirit, have gone through many and large editions, and been translated 
into several of the continental languages. “ They have also been the honoured means not only of 
converting many individuals, but also of introducing the Gospel into districts, and even into parish 
churches, where before it was comparatively unknown.” 

“ This work fully deserves the immortality it has attained.” 

This is a fine library edition of this uivaluable work ; and when we say that it should be found in 
the possession of every family, we only reiterate the sentiments and sincere wishes of all who take 
a deep interest in the eternal welfare of mankind. 



FAMILY PRAYERS AND HYMNS, 

ADAPTED TO FAMILY WORSHIP, 

AND 

TABLES FOR THE REGULAR READING OF THE SCRIPTURES. 

By Rev. S. C. Winchester, A. M., 

Late Pastor of the Sixth Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia; and the Presbyterian Church ax 

Natchez, Miss. 


LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


SPLENDID LIBRARY EDITIONS. 


ILLUSTRATED STANDARD POETS. 

ELEGANTLY PRINTED, ON FINE PAPER, AND UNIFORM IN SIZE AND 

STYLE. 


The following Editions of Standard British Poets are illustrated with numerous Steel 
Engravings, and may be had in all varieties of binding. 

BYRON’S WORKS. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

INCLUDING ALL HIS SUPPRESSED AND ATTRIBUTED POEMS ; WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL 

ENGRAVINGS. 

This edition has been carefully compared with the recent London edition of Mr. Murray, and 
made complete by the addition of more than fifty pages of poems heretofore unpublished in Eng- 
land. Among these there are a number that have never appeared in any American edition ; and 
the publishers believe they are warranted in saying that this is the most complete edition of Lori 
Byron’s Poetical Works ever published in the United States. 


<% pjrtlml Berks of Mrs. Jkmm 

Complete in one volume, octavo ; with seven beautiful Engravings. 

This is a new and compiete edition, with a splendid engraved likeness of Mrs. Hemans, on steei. 
and contains all the Poems in the last London and American editions. With a Critical Preface by 
Mr. Thatcher, of Boston. 

“As no work in the English language can be commended with more confidence, it will argue bad 
taste in a female in this country to be without a complete edition of the writings of one who was 
an honour to her sex and to humanity, and whose productions, from first to last, contain no syllable 
calculated to call a blush to the cheek of modesty and virtue. There is, moreover, in Mrs. Hemans’s 
poetry, a moral purity and a religious feeling which commend it, in an especial manner, to the dis- 
criminating reader. No parent or guardian wilf be under the necessity-of imposing restrictions 
with regard to the free perusal of every production emanating from this gifted woman. There 
breathes throughout the whole a most eminent exemption from impropriety of thought or diction ; 
and there is at times a pensiveness of tone, a winning sadness in her more serious compositions, 
which tells of a soul which has been lifted from the contemplation of terrestrial things, to divine 
sommunings with beings of a purer world.” 


MILTON, YOUNG, GRAY, BEATTIE, AND COLLINS’S 

. POETICAL WORKS. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 


(Cnmpcr null €jinttisnn’s pxm ntft ISirfcs. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

including two hundred and fifty Letters, and sundry Poems of Cowper, never before published in 
this country ; and of Thomson a new and interesting Memoir, and upwards of twenty 
new Poems, for the first time printed from his own Manuscripts, taken from 
a late Edition of the Aldine Poets, now publishing in London. 

WITH SEVEN BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 

The distinguished Professor Silliman, speaking of this edition, observes: “I am as much gratified 
by the elegance and fine taste of your edition, as by the noble tribute of genius and moral excel- 
lence which these delightful authors have left for all future generations ; and Cowper, especially, 
is not less conspicuous as a true Christian, moralist and teacher, than as a poet of great power and 
exquisite taste.” 


LIPPINCOTT, CRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS 


THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROGERS, CAMPBELL, MONTGOMERY, 

LAMB, AND KIRKE WHITE. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 

The beauty, correctness, and convenience of this favourite edition of these standard authors are 
so well known, that it is scarcely necessary to add a word in its favour. It is only necessary to say, 
that the publishers have now issued an illustrated edition, which greatly enhances its former value. 
The engravings are excellent and well selected. It is the best library edition extant. 


CRABBE, HEBER, AND POLLOK’S POETICAL WORKS. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, OCTAVO. 

WITH SIX BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS. 

A writer in the Boston Traveller holds the following language with reference to these valuable 
editions : — 

“ Mr. Editor : — I wish, without any idea of puffing, to say a word or two upon the 4 Library of 
English Poets’ that is now published at Philadelphia, by Lippincott, Grambo <fc Co. It is certainly, 
taking into consideration the elegant manner in which it is printed, and the reasonable price at 
which it is afforded to purchasers, the best edition of the modern British Poets that has ever been 
published in this country. Each volume is an octavo of about 500 pages, double columns, steieo- 
typed. and accompanied with fine engravings and biographical sketches ; and most of them are 
reprinted from Galignani’s French edition. As to its value, we need only mention that it contains 
the entire works of Montgomery, Gray, Beattie, Collins, Byron, Cowper, Thomson, Milton, Young, 
Rogers, Campbell, Lamb, Hemans, Heber, Kirke White, Crabbe, the Miscellaneous Works of Gold- 
smith, and other masters of the lyre. The publishers are doing a great service by their publication, 
and their volumes are almost in as great demand as the fashionable novels of the day ; and they 
deserve to be so : for they are certainly printed in a style superior to that in which we have before 
had the works of the English Poets.” 

No library can be considered complete without a copy of the above beautiful and cheap editions 
of the English Poets ; and persons ordering all or any of them, will please say Lippincott, Grambo 
At Co.’s illustrated editions. 



A COMPLETE 

Jirfiommj of -jMral (fuiofations: 

COMPRISING THE MOST EXCELLENT AND APPROPRIATE PASSAGES IN 
THE OLD BRITISH POETS; WITH CHOICE AND COPIOUS SELEC- 
TIONS FROM THE BEST MODERN BRITISH AND 
AMERICAN POETS. 

* EDITED BY SARAH JOSEPHA HALE. 

s* 

As nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, 

So poets live upon the living light 
Of Nature and of Beauty. 

Bailey's Festus. 

Beautifully illustrated with Engravings. In one super-royal octavo volume, in various 

bindings. 

The publishers extract, from the many highly complimentary notices of the above valuable and 
beautiful work, the following : 

“ We have at last a volume of Poetical Quotations worthy of the name. It contains nearly six 
hundred octavo pages, carefully and tastefully selected from all the home and foreign authors of 
celebrity. It is invaluable to a writer, while to the ordinary reader it presents every subject at a 
glance.” — Godey's Lady's Book. 

“ The plan or idea of Mrs. Hale’s work is felicitous. It is one for which her fine taste, her orderly 
tiabitsof mind, and her long occupation with literature, has given her peculiar facilities; and tho- 
roughly has she accomplished her task in the work before us.” — Sarlain's Magazine. 

“It is a choice collection' of poetical extracts from every English and American author worth 
perusing, from the days of Chaucer to the present time.” -Washington Union. 

"There is nothing negative about this work ; it is positively good.” — Evening Bulletin. 


LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE DIAMOND EDITION OF BYRON. 


THE POETICAL WORKS OE LORD BYRON, 

WITH A SKETCH OP HIS L.IFE. 

COMPLETE IN ONE NEAT DUODECIMO VOLUME, WITH 8TEEL PLATES. 

The type of this edition is so perfect, and it is printed with so much care, on fine white paper, 
that it can be read with as much ease as most of the larger editions. This work is to be had in 
plain and superb binding, making a beautiful volume for a gift. 

“ The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, complete in one volume : published by L., G. <fc Co., Phila- 
delphia. We hazard nothing in saying that, take it altogether, tins is the most elegant work ever 
issued from the American press. 

“ ‘ In a single volume, not larger than an ordinary duodecimo, the publishers have embraced the 
whole of Lord Byron’s Poems, usually printed in ten or twelve volumes ; and, what is more remark- 
able, have done it with a type so clear and distinct, that, notwithstanding its necessarily small size, 
it may be read with the utmost facility, even by failing eyes. The hook is stereotyped ; and never 
have we seen a finer specimen of that art. Everything about it is perfect — the paper, the print- 
ing, the binding, all corresjKuid with each other ; and it is embellished with two fine engravuigs, 
well worthy tile companionship in which they are placed. 

“ ‘This wilt make a beautiful Christmas present. 

" We extract the above from Godey’s Lady’s Book. The notice itself, we are given to understand, 
is written by Mrs. Hale. 

“ We have to add our commendation in favour of this beautiful volume, a copy of which has 
been sent us by the publishers. The admirers of the noble bard will feel obliged to the enterprise 
which has prompted the publishers to dare a competition with the numerous editions of his works 
already in circulation ; and we shall be surprised if this convenient travelling edition does not in a 
great degree supersede the use of the large octavo works, which have little advantage in size ana 
openness of type, and are much inferior iu the qualities of portability and lightness.” — Intelligencer . 


THE DIAMOND EDITION CF MOORE. 

(CORRESPONDING WITH BYRON.) 

THE POETICAL WORKSOP THOMAS MOORE, 

COLLECTED BY HIMSELF. 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 

Tms work is published uniform with Byron, from the last London edition, and is the most com- 
plete printed in the country. 

THE DIAMOND EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE, 

(COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME,) 

I2TCI*T7DI2T& A SKETCH OF HIS Z.IFZL 

UNIFORM WITH BYRON AND MOORE. 

THE ABOVE WORKS CAN BE HAD IN SEVERAL VARIETIES Of BINDING. 



GOLDSMITH’S ANIMATED NATURE. 

IN TWO VOLUMES, OCTAVO. 

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH 385 PLATES. 

CONTAINING A HISTORY OF THE EARTH. ANIMALS, BIRDS, AND FISHES; FORMING 
THE MOST COMPLETE NATURAL HISTORY EVER PUBLISHED. 

This is a work that should be in the library of every family, having been written by one of the 
most talented authors in the English language. 

•• Goldsmith can never be made obsolete while delicate genius, exquisite feeling, fine invention, 
'he most harmonious metre, and the happiest diction, are at all valued.” 


BIGLAND’S NATURAL HISTORY 


O* Animal*, Birds, Fishes, Reptiles, and Insects. Illustrated with numerous and beautiful Eagra* 
mgs. By JOHN BIGLAND, author of a “ View of the World,” “letters on 
Universal History,” Ac. Complete in 1 vol.. l-Jmo 


11 


LIPPINCOTT, GllAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE POWER AND PROGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES. 


THE UNITED STATES; Its Power and Progress. 

BJ (JOILLAOME TEEL POUSSIN, 

LATE MINISTER OF THE REPUBLIC OF FRANCE TO THE UNITED STATES. 
FIRST AMERICAN, FROM THE THIRD PARIS EDITION. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY EDMOND L. DU BARRY, M. D., 


SURGEON U. S. NAVY. 

In one large octavo volume. 



SCHOOLCRAFT’S GREAT NATIONAL WORK ON THE INDIAN TRIBES Of 

THE UNITED STATES. 

■WITH BEAUTIFUL AND ACCURATE COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS. 


HISTORICAL km STATISTICAL INFORMATION 

RESPECTING THE 

HISTORY, CONDITION AND PROSPECTS 

OF THE 

fates. 

COLLECTED AND PREPARED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE BUREAU OF ENDIAN 

AFFAIRS, PER ACT OF MARCH 3, 1847, 

BY HENRY R. SCISOQZ.CRilFT, LL.D. 

ILLUSTRATED BY S. EASTMAN, Capt. U. S. A. 

PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF CONGRESS. 



THE AMERICAN GARDENER’S CALENDAR, 

ADAPTED TO THE CLIMATE AND SEASONS OF THE UNITED STATES. 

Containing a complete account of all the work necessary to be done in the Kitchen Garden, Fruit 
Garden, Orchard, Vineyard, Nursery, Pleasure-Ground, Flower Garden, Green-house, Hot-house, 
and Forcing Frames, for every month in the year; with ample Practical Directions for performing 
the same. 

Also, general as well as minute instructions for laying out or erecting each and every of the above 
departments, according to modern taste and the most approved plans; the Ornamental Planting of 
Pleasure Grounds, in the ancient and modern style ; the cultivation of Thom Quicks, and other 
plants suitable for Live Hedges, with the best methods of making them, <5ic. To which are annexe 
catalogues of Kitchen Garden Plants and Herbs; Aromatic, Pot, and Sweet Herbs; Medicinal 
Plants, and the most important Grapes, <kc., used in rural economy ; with the soil best adapted >o 
their cultivation. Together with a copious Index to the body of the work. 


BY BERNARD M'MAHON. 

Tenth Edition, greatly improved. In one volume, octavo. 



THE USEFUL AND THE BEAUTIFUL; 

OK, DOMESTIC AND MORAL DUTIES NECESSARY TO SOCIAL HAPPINESS, 

BEAUTIFUL LY ILLUSTRATED. 

lGmo. square cloth. Price 50 and 75 cents. 


nfrian Cribs of tlje itnifii) 


LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE FARMER’S AND PLANTER’S ENCYCLOPEDIA. 


€ljc .fanner’s unit tylanWs (fnnjrlaprritia nf JUral SLffaira. 

BY CUTILBERT W. JOHNSON. 

ADAPTED TO THE UNITED STATES BY GOUVERNEUB EMERSON. 

Illustrated by seventeen beautiful Engravings of Cattle, Horses, Sheep, the varieties of Wheat, 
Barley, Oats, Grasses, the Weeds of Agriculture, &c . ; besides numerous Engrav- 
ings on vjrood of the most important implements of Agriculture, <kc. 

This standard work contains the latest and best information upon all subjects connected with 
farming, and appertaining to the country ; treating of the great crops of gram, hay, cotton, hemp, 
tohacco, rice, sugar, <kc. <kc. ; of horses and mules ; of cattle, with minute particulars relating to 
cheese and butter-making ; of fowls, including a description of capon-making, with drawings of the 
instruments employed ; of bees, and the Russian and other systems of managing bees and con- 
structing hives. Long articles on the uses and preparation of bones, lime, guano, and all sorts of 
animal, mineral, and vegetable substances employed as manures. Descriptions of the most approved 
ploughs, harrows, threshers, and every other agricultural machine and implement ; of fruit and 
shade trees, forest trees, and shrubs ; of weeds, and all kinds of flies, and destructive worms and 
insects, and the best means of getting rid of them ; together with a thousand other matters relating 
to rural life, about which information is so constantly desired by all residents of the country. 


IN ONE LARGE OCTAVO VOLUME. 



MASON’S FARRIER — FARMERS’ EDITION. 

Price, 02 cents. 


THE PRACTICAL FARRIER, FOR FARMERS: 

COMPRISING A GENERAL DESCRIPTION OP THE NOBLE AND USEFUL ANIMAL, 

THE HORSE; 

WITH MODES OF MANAGEMENT IN ALL CASES, AND TREATMENT IN DISEASE. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED, 

A PRIZE ESSAY ON MULES ! AND AN APPENDIX, 

Containing Recipes for Diseases of Horses, Oxen, Cows, Calves, Sheep, Dogs, Swine, <fcc. <fcc. 

23 IT HICHAB3 MASON, IVX. D., 

* 

Formerly of Surry County, Virginia. 

In one volume, 12mo.; bound in cloth, gilt. 

MASON’S FARRIER AND STUD-BOOK-NEW EDITION. 

THE GENTLEMAN’S NEW POCKET FARRIER: 

COMPRISING A GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE NOBLE AND USEFUL ANIMAL, 

THE HORSE; 

WITH MODES OF MANAGEMENT IN ALL CASES, AND TREATMENT IN DISEASE. 

BIT IUCHAHD Xff. D., 

Formerly of Surry County, Virginia. 

to which is added, A PRIZE ESSAY ON MULES; and AN APPENDIX, containing Recipes foi 
Diseases of Horses, Oxen, Cows, Calves, Sheep, Dogs, Swine, <kc. <fcc. ; with Annals 
of the Turf, American Stud-Book, Rules for Training, Racing, <fc c 

WITH A SUPPLEMENT, 

Comprising an Essay on Domestic Animals, especially the Horse ; with Remarks on Treatment any 
Breeding; together with Trotting and Racing Tables, show ing the best time on record at one 
two, three and four mile heats ; Pedigrees of Winning Horses, since 1839, and of the most 
celebrated Stallions and Mares; with useful Calving and Lambing Tallies By 
J. S. SKINNER, Editor now of the Farmer’s library, New York, <fcc. <ko 


LIPP1NC0TT, QUAMBO & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


HINDS'S FARRIERY AND STUD-BOOK-NEW EDITION. 


FARRIERY, 

TAUGHT ON A NEW AND EASY PLAN: 

% - ... . 

BEINO 

51 'fenfiBt de tjit SisMHcs nnil 51rriknts af t|t Hurst; 

fith Instructions to the Shoeing Smith, Farrier, and Groom ; preceded by^a Popular Description ol 
the Animal Functions in Health, and how these are to be restored when disordered. 

BY JOHN HINDS, VETERINARY SURGEON. 

With considerable Additions and Improvements, particularly adapted to this country, 

BY THOMAS M. SMITH, 

Veterinary Surgeon, and Member of the London Veterinary Medical Society. 

WITH A SUPPLEMENT, BY J. S. SKINNER. 

The publishers have received numerous fluttering notices of the great practical value of these 
works. The distinguished editor of the American Fanner, speaking of them, observes: — “We 
cannot too highly recommend these books, and therefore advise every owner of a horse to obtain 
them.” 

“There are receipts in those books that show how Founder may be cured, and the traveller pur- 
sue his journey the next day, by giving a tablespoon ful of alum. This was got from Dr. P. Thornton, 
of Montpelier, Rappahannock county, Virginia, as founded on his own observation in several cases.” 

“The constant demand for Mason’s and Hinds’s Farrier has induced the publishers, Messrs. Lip- 
pineott, Grambo <fc Co., to put forth new editions, wit h a * Supplement’ of 100 pages, by J. S. Skinner, 
Esq. We should have sought to render an acceptable service to our agricult ural readers, by giving 
a chapter from the Supplement, ‘On the Relations between Man and the Domestic Animals, espe- 
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“ Lists of Medicines, and other articles which ought to be at hand about every training and livery 
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TO CARPENTERS AND MECHANICS. 

J ust Published . 

A NEW AND IMPROVED EDITION OF 

THE CA It P ENTER’S NEW GUIDE, 

BEING A COMPLETE BOOK OF LINES FOB. 

ARPENTRY AND JOINERY; 

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Trussed Girders, Floors, Domes, Bridges, Ac., Angle Bars for Shop 
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ALSO, 

Additional Plans for various Stair-Cases, with the Lines for producing the Face and Falling Moulds, 
never before published, and greatly superior to those given in a former edition of this work. 

BY WILLIAM JOHNSON, ARCHITECT. 

OK PHILADELPHIA. 

The whole founded on true Geometrical Principles ; the Theory and Practice well explained and 
fully exemplified, on eighty-three copper plates, including some Observations and Calculations on 
.he Strength of Timber. 

BY PETER NICHOLSON, 

&otnor <rt “The Carpenter and Jouer’s Assistant,” “The Student’s instnictor to 0*e Vtv« 

Orders,” Ac. 

Thirteenth Edition. One volume, 4to., well bound. 

14 


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A DICTIONARY OF SELECT AND POPULAR QUOTATIONS, 

WHICH ARE IN DAILY USE. 

TAKEN FROM THE LATIN, FRENCH, GREEK, SPANISH AND ITALIAN LANGUAGES. 
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NEW AMERICAN EDITION, CORRECTED, WITH ADDITIONS, 

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This volume comprises a copious collection of legal and other terms which are in common use, 
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RUSCHENBERGER’S NATURAL HISTORY', 

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(Bltmtnk of Matural listen], 

EMBRACING ZOOLOGY, BOTANY AND GEOLOGY: 

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BIT W. S. W. nUSCHENBERGER,ia.D, 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

WITH NEARLY ONE THOUSAND ILLUSTRATIONS, AND A COPIOUS GLOSSARY. 
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EDITED BY MRS. HALE. 


With a Portrait of the Editress, a Splendid Illuminated Title-Page, and Twelve Beautiful Engrav- 
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THE YOUNG DOMINICAN; 

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The dist inguished biographer of the author, in noticing this work, observes : “ Happily for science 
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-’A..- • ■ \ . ■ U : J 

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OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 

BY MRS. MARY H. EASTMAN. 

PRICE, 50 AND 75 CENTS. 

’ .»« rf J ’ ' a J • 1 » J ■ . f ’* ‘ • J» 

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• y - . • / Jt K , • , ^ . *0 

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BIT Ii. STEENS. 

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CAMP LIFE OF A VOLUNTEER, 

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BY “ONE WHO HAS SEEN THE ELEPHANT.” 


%\ft of tonal 3at jjarq ^aqlor, 


COMPRISING A NARRATIVE OF EVENTS CONNECTED WITH HIS PROFESSIONAL 
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BY J. REESE FRY AND R. T. CONRAD. 


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